Special Delivery, Book Two
by WhiteVanillaFlames
Summary: In Harry's second year of Hogwarts the Chamber of Secrets is opened again. What happens now, with the real Heir of Slytherin in school, but innocent? And the students still accusing Harry? Can he clear his name and save the school in the process? HIATUS
1. Training Starts

**SPECIAL DELIVERY, BOOK 2**

Those of you starting to read this before the first book, sorry for the confusion. Go read the first book before this one, or you won't get most of this, or understand who a few people are. Apologies.

This is really chapter 1, but since it's a sequel it makes me feel better to say chapter 30. After all, I've written that much. Besides, I labeled this when I was planning on it being in the same book. But, by request, I've turned it into two. And eventually there will be a third. And a fourth. All because I enjoy writing it.

**Disclaimer** (as this is the start of another story, I think): I only own who you don't recognize, story changes you don't recognize, and personalities you don't recognize. Other than that, I'm borrowing, with full intention of putting back in the toy box later. Promise.

**Summary**: In Harry's second year of Hogwarts the Chamber of Secrets is opened again. What happens now, with the _real_ Heir of Slytherin in school, but innocent? And the students still accusing Harry? Can he clear his name and save the school in the process? (Sequel to Book 1, obviously.)

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Chapter 30, **Training Starts**

_Wednesday, Two weeks after End-of-Term_

"Come on in." Albus didn't look up from his desk.

Harry came and sat down across from the old man.

"You didn't shut the door, Harry."

Harry swiveled in his chair and stared at the door. Under his pointed gaze the door swung swiftly shut. Harry allowed himself a small smile and turned back to the Headmaster.

Dumbledore looked up and smiled. "Good, Harry. Now bring me some tea."

Harry looked across the room at an expensive china tea set on a table. He concentrated and the pot lifted, pouring some of its contents into a cup. The sugar container opened and a spoon dipped in, scooping some sugar to drop into the cup. The spoon then stirred the tea and dropped back next to it. Harry stared at the cup and it rose into the air, on the little plate, and floated over to a smiling Albus.

Dumbledore took the cup and smiled at Harry, who was now slumped in his seat.

"Are you all right, Harry?"

Harry sat up. "Fine… just need a little recovery time."

"You've never practiced wandless magic before this '_training_', Harry?"

"Well, I've done it before, but never on purpose, and it's never so exhausting."

"You need to practice. It's like sports, you need to exercise to keep in shape."

"So I need to constantly practice to make my mind strong enough to do stuff?"

"Yes, like that. And the more you practice the stronger you get."

"Does that mean I should try to work even when my mind is tired?"

"Yes, but don't overdo it. The results could be catastrophic."

"What should I do just for practice?"

"We went over this last week, Harry." Albus went back to his papers. "Remember? I have a lot of work to do during the summer. I just need you to check in with me."

"Please? You told me to make things float around, and go without my wand for everyday activities, but what if that's too hard when I'm tired, and I need to do something easier?"

"Open and shut doors, Harry. They require only the pushing and pulling of the mind. If you exercise enough you'll be moving the school's _staircases_ with your mind by the end of the summer. And you won't have to be staring at it to make it work, either."

"You think so?"

He sighed. "Yes, Harry."

"I'll let you go then," Harry said. He turned and opened the door with his mind, then walked through it, turned and shut it with his mind, and proceeded down the stairs.

He went down into the dungeons and Snape's chambers, where Vitesse was laying on his bed, arguing with Salazar Slytherin's daughter.

"_Do you mind if I practice with you, Vitesse_?"

The snake came sliding out of the bedroom. "_Practissse__ what_?"

"_Wandlessss__ magic_."

"_Go ahead, Harry_."

Harry stared at the snake and lifted his hand, palm up. It began to levitate around the room. The Cobra told him to stop after awhile, which was fine, because Harry himself was feeling much more exhausted than when he had left Dumbledore's weekly meeting.

He read until he was tired and retreated to bed.

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Saturday came quickly, with Harry practicing as often as he could to attempt to make himself stronger. As he practiced harder and harder things, he could plainly see that Dumbledore was right: the practice was indeed strengthening his mind. Slowly, but surely.

"Ready for Defense classes, Harry?" Snape asked, sitting heavily down in a lounge chair.

Harry closed the book and stood. "Sure."

Professor Snape took out his wand and waved the furniture out of the way. "Duel position," he said.

Harry held his wand out in dueling stance, and Snape did the same.

"**_Expelliarmus_**!"

Snape blocked it, "**_Protego_**!" and sent Harry an "**_Expelliarmus_**!"

Harry's wand flew out of his hand, and Harry stumbled backwards a bit. But now Snape had Harry's wand, and Harry was back in dueling position without a wand.

Harry saw it all in slow motion. Snape's wand was rising again, and Harry was concentrating.

First it was an '_expelliarmus_', the word not even having to leave Harry's mouth for both wands to go flying out of his Professor's hands and the Professor himself to stumble backwards. Then a mental '_petrificus_ _totalus_' froze Snape in place and he fell.

Harry quickly lifted the curse with his wand and ran over, surprised.

Professor Snape sat up and rubbed his temple.

"I am _so _sorry, Professor. I didn't realize—"

"It's all right, Harry." He stood, wincing. "How did you do that? I couldn't even block it because I didn't hear you say the curse."

"That's because I didn't."

"Pardon?"

"Can we finish this later? My head hurts. Professor Dumbledore says it's mental exhaustion."

"Go rest, tell me later."

Harry nodded and went into his bedroom, where Vitesse was arguing with Saliza Slytherin again.

"_Take it somewhere elssse_," Harry said, and both caught the tone of his voice. They quieted, and Harry was asleep the moment he crawled into bed.

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"So tell me, then." Snape stared at Harry.

Harry was now well rested and having his brain picked in Dumbledore's office. "I concentrated on the spell and the outcome and it happened. Professor Dumbledore's been teaching—or training, more likely—me to do magic without my wand. He's told me to concentrate on what I want to happen, so I did."

Dumbledore said, "Wandless magic, of course, but usually it would take longer for you to master things such as curses and dueling spells. It takes a lot of training to get that strength of mind, but it's only been two weeks since end of term, since you started this training."

"What does that mean?"

"It means, like I said before, that you're stronger than the average wizard. If you knew the extent of your abilities it would be better, but what can we do?"

Snape said, "We can try to learn the extent of his abilities."

Dumbledore turned to his Potions Master. "That would take extensive tests, things we don't have time for, not to mention it would be extremely exhausting on Harry's part."

"What are the benefits of knowing?" Harry asked. "Because I'm willing to try. And train. Whatever it takes."

"That's very honorable Harry, but it would be unforgivable if you got hurt or worse, killed," said Snape.

Harry turned to him. "If this prophecy Professor Dumbledore told me about is true, then I either kill or be killed. I would prefer to kill, just as I said before. But I won't be able to without these '_tests_', so, at the risk of being killed by someone _other_ than Voldemort, I'm willing to do the tests."

"It'll be years before you're forced to kill, Harry."

"You honestly think so? Because I don't. I think that he's going to try to come back at every possible opportunity, and eventually, he will succeed. We won't always be able to stop him from coming back. You've said so yourself. He's brilliant, resourceful, even if a bit _insane_. He'll be using every resource he has to regain power. We have to be ready for him, or we're in trouble."

Dumbledore and Snape looked at each other. They knew he was right.

"Fine. I'll ask Minerva to deal with the papers and technicalities, she's the Deputy Headmistress after all. We need to train Harry."

Harry broke into a smile. "Good then. Let the training commence."

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Harry's wand flew out of his hand and he turned to his attacker. Filius Flitwick was coming at him. Harry's mouth dropped open and he concentrating on binding the Professor. The mental '_delegavi_' was effective and Flitwick fell over, bound and roped. He quickly '_accio_'ed his fallen wand and turned to his next attacker, Rubeus Hagrid, who was wielding a spark-shooting umbrella.

"**_Stupify_**!"

The jet of red light bounced off Hagrid and Harry got frustrated quickly. He blocked Hagrid's '_expelliarmus_' with a '_protego_' and tried '_petrificus_ _totalus_' on the huge man. Hagrid became stiff and fell over, so Harry turned to his next attacker, who cast '_silentium_ _vox_' on him then turned into a cat and ran off. Harry was left incapable of saying the spells, thereby leaving him only to his limited wandless magic.

He sensed something behind him and whirled around to find Severus Snape, wand poised. Harry seemed to feel what was coming and focused on the '_murus_ _vitrum_' spell, which reflected his professor's '_stupefy_' back to him.

By then Harry was exhausted and didn't even have the power to block the next attacker's '_delegavi_'. He fell over, bound from head to foot, and closed his eyes.

"I… surrender," he said, breathing heavily. He opened his eyes to Professor Dumbledore's smiling face and twinkling eyes.

"Good, Harry," the man said, unbinding him and helping him up. Harry watched while the older man undid all of Harry's enchantments.

"Sir," Harry said, catching his breath, after all the professors were moving again, "why couldn't I stupefy Hagrid?"

Dumbledore thought for a moment. "Do you want to tell him, Hagrid?" he asked.

Hagrid shrugged. "I'm 'alf-giant, 'Arry. I figure I can trust ye."

Harry nodded. "So half-giants are immune to '_stupefy_'?"

"Nah, giant's are, but I'm just harder ta stupefy than tha average man."

Harry said, "Oh, okay. Will I ever have the power to '_stupefy_' half-giants."

Dumbledore said, "Maybe, with practice, Harry."

"Why don't you sit down, Harry," Snape said, rubbing his arse where he had fallen from his own stupefy. "Since it won't hurt _you _to do so."

"Sorry," Harry said, "I didn't mean to."

"Course not," Severus growled.

They were in the great Hall, in a large square in the center, where it was surrounded by a wall Dumbledore had constructed with hidden doors that all the Professors had been jumping out of individually in no specific pattern to see how well Harry reacted.

Albus conjured up a chair for Harry to sit in while the staff gathered around.

"You up for another round, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "It gets easier to go longer each time. I was just a bit tired. Remember, the first time I didn't make it past Hagrid. Now I only fell to Professor Dumbledore."

"Of course, you didn't fight me, either," Minerva McGonagall said. "I just made it so you couldn't say the spells."

"Which makes it harder for me because I can't use my wand," said Harry.

Dumbledore began looking off into space, thinking. "You know, Harry, you could probably lift jinxes like that yourself."

The rest of the Professors and Harry and Hagrid looked at him.

"If you can make spells happen without saying the spell out loud, then why shouldn't you be able to lift them off yourself?" Dumbledore raised his wand to Harry and said "**_Silentio_**."

Harry found himself unable of speaking. He began to worry before remembering the point of the test, and concentrating on '_finite incantem_.' After a few seconds he tried to speak, and it worked.

The professors all smiled at him (except Snape, who smirked, of course) and stepped aside.

Minerva McGonagall wore a small frown. "I don't quite understand how all this works," she said to Albus.

He began to think. "Well, the key to almost all magic, with a wand, is pronunciation of the spells and the flick of the wand. But magic without a wand is a completely different story. I suppose you could say the spells out loud, but what good would that do? If Harry had to say '_wingardium__ leviosa_' every time he was levitating something around, why should he bother with the stress of no wand? No, the words aren't necessary. You have to concentrate on the desired result. Only the best of the best can do wandless magic, because not only does it take power and skill, it also takes imagination, because—"

"**Visualization**," Harry said, understanding. "Whenever I concentrate, I try to visualize what it would be if I got the result, and just try to picture it until it happens."

McGonagall gave a tight smile. "But how do you visualize the lift of the '_silentium_ _vox_' spell, or '_silencio_'?"

Harry grinned. "That's the difference, you still use some level of visualization, but you're imagining a different result. When I was focusing on getting my voice back I concentrated on the sound of my voice, and what it would be like to hear it again, and of course '_finite incantem_' for the spell, and then all the sudden I could talk. When I wanted to bind Professor Flitwick I imagined what he would look like tied up, unable to cast spells."

Snape raised an eyebrow. Flitwick looked absolutely delighted. Dumbledore was twinkling, proud. Hagrid appeared mildly surprised. And lastly, McGonagall seemed slightly perturbed.

"So I can do anything with this, then, and all I have to do is visualize it."

"Well, I wouldn't go that far, Harry," Dumbledore said, a bit pained all of the sudden. "Don't get over power-hungry, or this could end up disastrous."

Harry looked at his lap and suddenly Vitesse was there, looking very confused for a snake. She turned to a grinning Harry, "_What am I doing here_?_ Harry, thisss is all your fault!_ _I was busy in a rather heated conversation with Sssaliza_!"

"_Don't worry, I'll put you back_," Harry said, concentrating. And the snake was gone.

The professors were all looking a little shocked. Except Dumbledore. He was still looking mildly pained.

"Aren't you a bit tired, Harry?" Severus asked.

Harry shook his head. "I'm experimenting. Too busy to be tired." He stopped to think. "I wonder…" Harry closed his eyes and concentrated, and when he opened them again, the Professors, except Dumbledore (who was looking amused), were all even more shocked.

"Did he reappear in a different part of the castle?" Flitwick asked. "Is it kind of like apparating?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I wouldn't be surprised if he could do that, also, but no, he's just invisible."

Harry walked up to Snape and waved a hand in front of his face. The professor saw right through him. Harry concentrated, and his hand reappeared, scaring the hell out of Severus. The man gave an uncharacteristic yelp and jump backwards, to the amusement and fright of the rest of the gathering.

Snape was furious, and Harry doubted whether or not he should make an appearance. He decided to reappear.

"Should I try this apparating-like thing then?" he asked.

Dumbledore shrugged his shoulders, eyes still carrying leftover twinkle from Severus's show. "I don't see the harm."

Harry closed his eyes and tried to picture different scenery around him, and when he opened his eyes, he was in the Potions lab a cauldron was simmering on Professor Snape's desk. He grinned and silently placed himself back into the Great Hall, in front of some very happy professors and Hagrid.

"How hard is that, Harry?" asked Flitwick, after watching Harry flicker back into sight.

"Not very," said Harry, shrugging his shoulders. "The photographic memory helps, since I can easily picture the rooms and scenery in my mind. And even if I don't know what certain things look like, it's not hard to visualize and imagine."

"That's a very good thing, Harry," Dumbledore said. "But for now I think we should exercise this new power you seem to possess, therefore I think another test is in order…"

The old man took Harry's wand and hid it in his extensive robes. He got rid of the walls that were restricting the rest of the Great Hall and said, "Harry, go over there where you can't hear. The other professors and I need to plan. And no sneaking up on us. Believe me, I'll know."


	2. Animagus Time

_Note:_ I did not invent the creatures in this chapter. They are from "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them", a tiny little book published by Scholastic, Inc. If there are any who don't understand the creatures I used (mostly familiar ones, hopefully) then I'll type up their descriptions in a separate story, but only by request, so don't be afraid to ask.

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Chapter 31, **Animagus Time**

Harry was running through the castle, wandless, being chased by a very large troll. It couldn't see him, he was invisible, but apparently it could smell him. Harry came across a classroom and ran in it, slamming the door behind him, locking it. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate, but it was hard with the pounding of the troll's club on the door. Harry pictured the aviary on the other side of the castle in his mind's eye, and when he opened his real eyes, he was there. Harry peeked around the corner out the door and, seeing it was clear, walked out.

There were _things_ prowling the castle. There was no other way to describe it. _Things_ were running loose in Hogwarts and Harry was being forced to remove them. Hagrid had brought various _creature_s from the forest and elsewhere, and they had even gotten a very large, very upset troll.

Harry had run across a swarm of angry, electric blue pixies, some very large scorpion-thing that tried to blow him up (a '_Blast-Ended_ _Skrewt_'? he thought), and small, mad little stick men called 'bowtruckles' that seemed to be desperately searching for their tree homes, to mention a few. And of course, the troll, which was, he knew, prowling the castle looking for him.

The boy peeked around a corner and caught sight of some of the pixies. He concentrated and, one by one, they fell to the floor, petrified. Harry let loose a small sigh of relief and walked over, picking them up and throwing them in a little bag. He concentrated and the bag disappeared, exiled to outside the castle walls.

In its stead, to his surprise, was a note, apparently from one of his tormentors.

_Banish the Doxies in the Transfiguration classroom in twenty minutes, or we unleash the Billywigs._

The writing was clearly Albus Dumbledore's loopy scrawl.

Harry frowned. It was a good thing they had told him to study a Care of Magical Creatures book before setting him to clear the castle, otherwise he'd be very confused by the strange names.

He teleported himself to the Transfiguration room quickly, knowing how difficult Doxies can be. Though he was a little worried. He had left the troll around here.

Shrugging the thought away, he looked around the room for the Doxy infestation. Even with a quick glance, he could tell that the curtains on the windows were alive with activity and buzzing. He groaned inwardly and inched over, trying not to alert the hairy creatures of his presence.

As soon as he wrestled the first one out of the drapes, a clock appeared, hovering next to him, on a twenty minute countdown. Wary of the effects a Billywig sting would have on his hunting, Harry bit his lip and pushed forward with ridding Professor McGonagall's window curtains of Doxies.

Twenty minutes later the clock started sounding an obnoxious beeping sound. Harry looked at it, watching as it suddenly transformed into another note with a '_poof_!'. He snatched it out of thin air and read another of the Headmaster's notes.

_The Billywigs have been released. Good luck._

Harry read it again, frowning, until all of the sudden more words appeared.

_(By the way, try '_inflavi_' on the Doxies; it efficiently stuns them.)_

Harry frowned at the first part, then smiled to himself. "Giving hints, sir. Do the other professors know that you're cheating?"

Another note appeared.

_No,_ it read, _and I would appreciate it if they never did._

Harry laughed and set to finish off the Doxies. Dumbledore was correct, of course. The Blow spell caused the little creatures to fly into the window or the wall, effectively stunning them. Harry then shoved them into a bag. When they were all trapped, he sealed the bag and teleported it outside the castle, letting out a sigh of relief and leaning against the wall next to the now Doxy-less drapes.

A note fluttered into sight, and he grabbed it.

_Tired already, child? Why, you still have far to go…. I do believe there's a Fwooper in the Astronomy tower…. I _don't_ believe it's been silenced. Oh, yes, and, beware of the Billywigs. They are quite spread out by now, I assume._

Harry narrowed his eyes at the paper. "Ugh. I do believe you are spying on my, Professors," he said to any who were listening. "Probably Hagrid, too."

Another note came. Dumbledore's writing read:

_Correct, child. _

Then the writing switched to Snape's tiny, cramped script, and it read:

Yes, Harry, we're spying on you. Now would you please take care of the Niffler in my office!

Then it switched to McGonagall's for the rest of the note.

_Ignore him, Harry,_ she had written, _take care of the one in _my_ office. It's closer. Now, hurry! There are a lot of animals in that castle!_

Harry could just imagine the Headmaster's chuckling as he read the Heads of House's pleas. Shrugging, Harry moved to McGonagall's office. It clicked open, and he could see that a Niffler had already decided to trash the place.

He stunned it quickly, then put it in a bag and teleported it from the castle. "Not hard," he said aloud, before the flutter of paper told him of another note.

"I thought I was de-thingitizing this castle without interference!" he yelled at the note before grasping it from the air.

_Good,_ McGonagall's writing said, _now pick my office back up!_

Scowling, Harry placed things back where they belonged, casting a few '_reparo_'s on his professor's items.

After finishing, he quickly teleported himself to Snape's office to get rid of that Niffler. It looked up when he appeared, giving him the opportunity to stun it. It squealed strangely and slid out of the way. He glared at it, narrowing the bright emerald green eyes.

"You want to play hard ball? I'm game," he stated. Watching the black ball of fur dart around the room, destroying everything it could without slowing down, he, grinning evilly, performed '_cataracta_'. The fur ball was surprised enough by the sudden downfall of water over its long-snouted head that it let its guard down. Harry stunned it and banished it from the castle, smirking.

Then Harry teleported himself to the Astronomy tower to take care of the Fwooper before he could get a letter from Snape telling him to pick up and dry the office.

The weird-looking bird was perched on a telescope, standing out brightly in the dark room. It was bright lime green!

As Harry looked at it it began to sing. Harry started to move towards the Fwooper, but stopped to listen to the song.

After a minute a note appeared. In cramped but very readable bright red the words clearly stated:

_YOU BLOODY IDIOT!!!_

Harry remembered what bird he was listening to and laughed, casting 'silencio' on the puffy creature. He walked up to it, stroking the its back for a second before stunning it. He gently plucked one of its feathers for a quill, then put it in a bag and teleported it from the castle.

He put the feather in the pocket of his robes for later and exited the tower.

A Billywig approached him before he had even finished climbing down the steps to the tower. He wouldn't have noticed it unless he was on edge, looking for it. He attempted to stun it, but the spell missed and merely annoyed the vivid blue insect.

It darted around him at full speed. Unfortunately, as hard as he tried, the creature was as fast if not faster than a Snitch, and he couldn't keep his eye on it. After two minutes of cat-and-mouse, Harry, for once being the mouse, was stung.

He groaned. He knew the side affects, and knew how difficult it would make his hunting. Eventually he petrified the Billywig and stuffed it into the bag, feeling light-headed.

After ten minutes Harry was feeling very giddy, though had managed to get rid of a couple more of the Billywigs.

"How many of these bloody things are there?" he asked the caste. A note appeared.

_Five, Mr. Potter,_ read Flitwick's handwriting. _Therefore, three down, two to go._

By now he was levitating through the castle, having mild difficulties making himself go the way he wanted to. The Billywig's sting was really sinking in.

Harry spent another half hour gathering round the other Billywigs, petrifying them with his mind and banishing them outside the castle, before he found the troll again. He smelled and heard it before he saw it. It seemed to be coming up from the dungeons.

Harry turned and watched it come up the stairs, planning while shaking mildly. The troll saw him when it reached the top of the stairs. Harry threw a mental '_delegavi_' at it, but it broke free of the binds with brute force. It quickly swung at Harry's head with the club for retaliation, but Harry managed, with difficulty, to float out of the way, already foreseeing the attack. Harry levitated the troll's club and threw it down the hall out of the creature's reach, causing it to yell with frustration. Harry tried '_stupefy_' on the beast, but it deflected off, and the troll raised it arms in the hair and yelled. Finally, with the last of Harry's strength, he tried '_marmoreum_'. It worked.

Four professors and Hagrid appeared coming down the hall. They were the only ones left in the castle over the summer, so they were the ones training Harry. They looked positively gleeful (except Snape, who was, as usual, smirking).

"Bravo, Harry," Dumbledore said, twinkles in his old blue eyes as he looked up to where the boy was hovering. He cast a charm that brought Harry back to the ground somehow, but ge was still light-headed and giddy. "Now, we only found one _real_ problem."

Harry frowned. "What's that?"

Dumbledore looked pointedly at the troll, who was now a large marble figure, two times the size of Hagrid, in the middle of the hallway, arms stretched towards the ceiling, mouth open in it's yell of fury while his head was thrown back. If it had not been a troll it would have been almost heavenly. "Now we have a large marble troll statue and nothing to do with it."

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Harry grinned, also turning to look at the hideous thing. "It would work well in the Great Hall. You could put it right behind the staff table; intimidate the first years."

Fully recovered from the Billywig sting, Harry ate breakfast with Professor Snape in their quarters the next morning, getting extreme entertainment about feeding himself with no hands or fork, just levitating the small bites of egg to his mouth individually. Severus had asked him what he was doing after the first few bites, but resigned himself to watching with mild amusement after Harry said "exercising" rather cheerfully.

After that, Snape left for the lab to continue his secret research project, and Harry took to innocently prowling the castle. Because Madame Pince was gone for the summer holidays, Harry was given free reign of the Restricted Section of the library by Dumbledore. Harry had taken to looking up useful curses and countercurses and spells and jinxes whenever he wasn't training.

He was reading a book on Dark Rituals after dinner when Dumbledore summoned him to the Headmaster's office. Harry shrugged, closing the book, and made his way to Dumbledore's office, where McGonagall and the Headmaster were waiting for him.

Harry frowned when he saw them. "Did I do something wrong? If you don't want me reading up on rituals of the dark arts, I won't. I was just reading—"

"Don't worry, boy, we didn't call you up here to yell at you."

Harry breathed a small breath of relief and sat down across from the two Professors.

"Do you know what Professor McGonagall is, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

The soon-to-be second year furrowed his brows. Was this a trick question? "Of course. She's a female Transfiguration Professor at and Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"No, no, child, that's not what I meant. I was asking if you knew of her animagus form."

Harry nodded. "A cat, yes, I am aware."

"Do you know what it takes to become an animagus, Harry?"

The boy shook his head.

"You're father was one. A stag, if I remember correctly. It takes a powerful wizard to be an animagus. Usually people don't even try until they are older, as it is a bit dangerous if it goes awry."

Harry nodded. "That's interesting, but unless you want me to become an animagus, it's irrelevant, isn't it?"

"See, that's the thing, Harry, we think that you may be even _more_ powerful, overwhelming as you are already, were you an animagus."

"That's if I survive the transformation."

"There is no doubt in my mind that you will survive the transformation. It may be a bit painful, but I know you will survive."

"It's always painful the first time," Minerva stated. "Your bones and body changes shape for the first time, changing everything. It's odd."

"I don't understand how it happens."

McGonagall changed into a tabby cat and back. "It's the concentration lesson all over again, Harry. Concentrate on becoming an animal, and you do. It isn't difficult for those of us willing and able to do it. But you must concentrate every fiber of your being into becoming that animal. And you must have a significant amount of power. If a normal wizard were to concentrate on becoming an animal, he may have a mistransformation or nothing might happen at all."

"How do I concentrate on becoming an animal if I don't know what animal I'm becoming?"

"Difficult to explain." McGonagall turned to Dumbledore. "Do you want him to try?"

Albus nodded. "Let's see this."

Harry stood and concentrated. Albus and Minerva watched. He sat and focused on being an animal, and his mind flitted over each animal he thought he could become. His father was a stag, so he was thinking he might become something like that, but then he thought of his Parseltongue, and figured he may become a snake. Finally, after concentrating for what seemed like hours, he felt pain like he'd never felt before. It felt like his bones were shifting, and he figured they were. Then, as abruptly as it had started, it stopped.

He opened his eyes and realized he was in the fetal position on the floor. The two Professors were watching him, and he looked at himself. He hadn't changed.

"What happened?"

"You stopped concentrating when everything began to shift. You have to keep control, Harry," McGonagall said.

"But it hurts!"

"Of course it hurts, your bones are shifting."

"How am I supposed to concentrate on this animal thing when this searing pain is consuming every part of my body?"

"That's why we're going to have to try again, Harry," Dumbledore said.

Harry stood up, wincing, and sat in the chair in front of Dumbledore's desk.. "Not today."

Albus shook his head. "No, not today."

Harry concentrated and conjured a cold, wet, washcloth out of midair. He held it to his forehead and sat back. "Better."

Dumbledore smiled. "Go back to your rooms or the library and rest. We'll try again after lunch tomorrow."

"Yes, sir." Harry left.

He picked up the Dark Rituals book from the library and made his way to the dungeons. Snape was drinking from a glass tumbler while watching the fire burn and crackle.

"Hello, Harry," he said.

Harry nodded to him and sat on a lounge chair.

"What did you do today?"

"Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore want me to become an animagus."

"That's hard work."

"Not so much hard as painful." Harry shifted in his seat, remembering the feeling.

"So I've heard." Snape called a house elf and ordered a refill for his tumbler.

"How is your research?" Harry asked, yawning.

"It's… going well."

Harry nodded. "Still can't tell me, then."

"Of course."

"Am I allowed to know why?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's private."

"Oh. So basically you don't want anyone to know about it because you'll probably fail."

"Very good. "

Harry gave a small smile and leaned back in the chair. "Where's Vitesse?"

"Your bedroom."

Harry yawned and nodded. "Good night," he said, standing. "I have more training tomorrow."

"Good, you get some sleep, and I'll stay here and get drunk."

Harry paused. "Is your research going that badly?"

Snape nodded and downed the tumbler. "It's all right. I've a hangover potion."

Harry shook his head and went to bed.

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"Keep concentrating through the pain this time. With your dedication, you should be able to do it. Just focus."

Harry gritted his teeth. "It's not as easy as you make it out to be."

Snape was there this time, having decided to let his potion simmer in the lab. "Can't be worse than the Crucious, Harry."

"I've never been under the Crucious, but this hurts."

Dumbledore sighed. "Are you up to trying again, Harry?"

He stood up and moved behind his chair. "Yes, sir."

Harry focused. Once again he tried to concentrate on becoming an animal, still finding it difficult because he didn't know what animal he was becoming. The pain came sooner this time, and he tried to work through it, focusing on being an animal. Any animal.

Then it stopped. He stood from where he had fallen. McGonagall's eyes looked ready to bulge out of her head and her mouth had fallen open, her hand going over it with her gasp. Dumbledore was more surprised than any of the three others in the room had ever seen him. And Snape was wearing the infamous goldfish look, a _very_ rare happening.

Clearly none of them had expected Harry to become what he had.

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Author's Note: One hundred million points to anyone who can guess what he becomes. And I'll mail you twenty dollars. That's how much I don't think you'll get it.

Good luck!


	3. Exercising a New Form and Bookstore Braw

Chapter 32, **Exercising a New Form; Bookstore Brawling**

Harry figured he was some sort of horse-thing, because he had four legs and a tail, but was most definitely larger than a dog or cat.

McGonagall lowered her hand and whispered something Harry couldn't catch.

Dumbledore nodded.

"A _thestral_?" Snape asked. "How could he possibly become a _thestral_?"

"He's a cross between the darkness of Voldemort's influence and his father's form, a stag. It's incredible." Dumbledore walked up to Harry and raised his hand. "Do you mind?"

Harry shook his head.

Albus softly patted the mane of hair on Harry's neck. "This is _curious_. I wasn't expecting a creature that could fly."

"Are we to keep this a secret, Albus?" Minerva whispered.

The old man nodded. "We must. Though it is illegal. We shall hide it as best we can."

Harry was trying to figure out how to fly.

"I suppose, Harry, that you would like to go out and stretch your wings?"

Harry nodded his head.

"Can you turn back to human form?"

Harry concentrated and changed back. It wasn't quite as painful this time around.

"So, what's a thestral?"

"A thestral is a type of horse that is only visible to those who have seen death. They pull our school's carriages. Hagrid tamed a pack of them; they're usually quite ferocious creatures. You can look up more about them in the library if you wish."

Harry nodded. "I was thinking I'd be a snake. Because of the Parseltongue and all."

"I believe we were also," Snape said.

Harry frowned. "So I can fly?"

Dumbledore said, "Yes. Now let's bring you onto the grounds."

The four walked to the Great Hall, where Harry changed back even less painfully this time, before walking onto the Hogwarts Grounds.

"Open your wings, Harry."

Harry did, controlling his extra ligaments.

"Jump and fly; it's in your nature, you can do it."

Harry took off from the ground, gracefully, slowly flapping the huge wings attached to his body occasionally. He circled the grounds a couple times, not tiring in the least. The pressure of the wind pushed against him as he flew, adding to the thrill of it all. Then he flew over the lake, gently dragging is feet over the surface. He could see the giant squid under the water, and mermaids swimming below.

He rose again and flew over the Forbidden Forest. Then he landed in front of Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall.

Hagrid came running out of his cabin. "Sir! Professor Dumbledore, sir! There's a thestral on tha loose! I don' know how he coulda gotten loose, sir, I have 'em carefully contained!"

"It's all right, Hagrid. I know there is." Dumbledore turned to Harry. "Turn back, child."

Harry did.

Hagrid's eyes bulged. "Animagus, sir? Are ye sure ye should be havin' 'im do that?"

"It's safe, Hagrid, he's fine, and perfectly able."

"If ye say so, Professor, naturally I believe ye, but I really don' think it's safe."

"Harry will be fine; the chances of him making a mistake mid-change are slim to nothing. Carry on, Hagrid, we've business to attend to."

Hagrid nodded, and, with a lingering glance at Harry, walked back to his cabin, disappearing inside.

Harry turned to Dumbledore, smiling. "What now?"

"Now you practice. For the rest of the summer. Until two weeks before term when you go to Diagon Alley with your friends. After that, I believe you will be visiting Ron Weasley at his house, in the Burrow."

"I will?"

"Yes, as well as Hermione Granger and Vanella Incendie. They don't think they plan on inviting Draco Malfoy because the Malfoys and the Weasleys are long-standing enemies."

Harry was shocked. "How do you know all this? I haven't gotten an owl or anything like that."

Dumbledore twinkled. "I've visited the Weasleys recently. Now go practice!"

Harry jumped and ran to the dungeons while Snape was saying something about his potion.

He reached Severus's chambers in record time, collapsing on the couch. "Practice," he said. "I'm going to spend another month _practicing_." He stayed there for another few moments, then sat down Indian-style on the floor.

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Thirty minutes later Harry was still sitting in a meditation-like state.

Snape walked into his chambers, shoulders sagging. Suddenly he yelled "Holy Merlin!" at the sight and jumped back against the wall.

Harry's eyes snapped open and everything fell. The lounge chairs, the couch, the coffee table, and everything (even the clock) on the mantelpiece fell to the floor with an incredible crash. Even Harry.

"What…were… you doing?" Snape managed between heavy breaths.

Harry shrugged his shoulders and rubbed his rear. "Practicing… _ow_. Why'd you scare me like that?"

"You scared me! People don't usually walk into their homes to find their children floating in midair with all the furniture."

Harry stood, wincing. "Sorry. I was practicing. Like you all told me to."

"You should have warned me."

"How could I have? You've restricted me from your lab, because of your secret '_research_'. And that's where you were, isn't it?"

Snape sighed. "Yes, fine." He pointed. "Upright the furniture so I can sit on it."

Harry did, with a small wave of his hand and a slight wince at the efforts of his day. "Better?"

Severus collapsed on a chair and sighed. "Much."

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By two weeks before term Harry could do almost everything without his wand, and his animagus transformation was no longer painful. Getting up in the morning, however, sometimes was.

"Harry!"

Harry felt himself being smacked over the head with a pillow.

"Harry, get up!"

Another thwack.

"Now!"

Harry moaned. "Alright, alright." He climbed out of the mass of blankets. (It was cold in the dungeons, no matter the season.)

"Get dressed. We're going to Diagon Alley. Minerva just dropped by your school list."

Harry stood and charmed himself clean. "What's on the list?"

Snape handed it to him.

It read:

SECOND YEAR STUDENTS WILL REQUIRE:

_The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_ by Miranda Goshawk

_Break with a Banshee_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Gadding with Ghouls_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Holidays with Hags_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Travels with Trolls by_ Gilderoy Lockhart

_Voyages with Vampires_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Wanderings with Werewolves_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Year with the Yeti_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

Harry grimaced. "Who's Gilderoy Lockhart, and why do I need all his books?"

Snape sneered. "Gilderoy Lockhart is the egotistical fool that Dumbledore hired for the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Harry nodded, still looking at the list. "I'll have to pick up money, I don't have enough for eight books of an egotistical fool."

"I figured that, which is why we're going to Gringott's. And all your little friends are going to Diagon Alley today also. Albus figured you could meet them and I could go restock Potions ingredients."

The boy yawned. "All right, let's go."

They walked to the edge of Hogwarts' grounds and Snape apparated while Harry teleported himself (not before offering to fly them there, of course) to Diagon Alley.

Snape left Harry for the apothecary after Gringott's, so Harry went off to the bookstore, Flourish and Blotts. He wasn't the only one. A large crowd was gathered around the doors, pushing and shoving to try and get in. The explanation for this behavior was announced by a large banner in the upper windows.

GILDEROY LOCKHART

will be signing copies of his autobiography

MAGICAL ME

today 12:30 to 4:30 P.M.

Harry slipped inside and looked around, spotting a clan of red hair he guessed was the Weasleys. He weaved his way to them through the crowd and popped in front of Ron and Hermione and Vanella.

"Hey," he said.

"Harry!" Ron yelled, positively squealing. Apparently he hadn't hit puberty. The high-pitched squeal caught the attention of most of the shop, causing everyone to look at him, even Gilderoy Lockhart.

The blonde haired, blue eyed smiling man looked over at Ron, then Harry. He practically gaped. "Harry Potter?" he asked, jumping to his feet. He was wearing robes of forget-me-not blue that matched his eyes and a pointy wizard's hat on top of his wavy hair. Surrounding him were pictures of his own face, winking and smiling, showing off impossibly white teeth.

The crowd parted as Lockhart grabbed Harry and pulled him up to where he had been signing autographs. Lockhart shook Harry's hand fiercely and smiled while a short man for the _Daily Prophet_ pranced around with a large black camera, shooting pictures and creating puffs of purple smoke and blinding flashes of light.

"Smile, Harry," Lockhart said, still shaking Harry's hand. "Together you and I can make the front page."

Harry could barely feel his fingers when Lockhart finally let go. Harry tried to sneak away back to the Weasleys, but Lockhart grabbed him and slung an arm around his shoulder. Harry was clamped tightly to the blonde man's side.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" he yelled, waving for everyone's attention. "I think this is the perfect opportunity to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for some time!"

The crowd quieted and turned their attention to Lockhart.

"When young Harry here entered this shop today, he expected to just buy my autobiography—which I shall be happy to present to him now, autographed and free of charge—" The crowd applauded. "He didn't know that he would soon be getting _more _than merely a copy of my book, _Magical Me_! He would soon be getting the _real _magical me, as well as his schoolmates. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I take great pleasure and pride in announcing that, this September, I will be taking the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

The crowd burst into applause and cheers and Harry wanted nothing more than to make himself invisible from where he was clamped at Lockhart's side. He considered it for a few moments before deciding it would bring too much attention to himself.

He was ripped from his thoughts when he was suddenly presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart. With difficulty, he managed to edge his way out of the limelight to where Ron's little sister was standing with her new cauldron. He dumped them into it. "You can have these, I'll buy my own."

She blushed.

Ron and Hermione came over, handing Harry a copy of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_.

Suddenly a sleek voice from behind Harry made him jump.

"Well, this is interesting."

Harry turned to see a bigger, older version of Draco Malfoy standing there, sneering, with Draco at his side, looking apologetic. Harry had been told of Draco's father, Lucius. That he wasn't a nice man.

"Looks like Harry Potter is the center of attention again."

Harry flushed an unappealing pink color.

The Weasleys came up behind him, causing Lucius's lingering gaze to shift. "Oh, it's the Weasley family," he said quietly, seemingly to himself, before saying louder,

"Well, well, well—Arthur Weasley."

"Lucius," said Mr. Weasley, nodding coldly.

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," Malfoy said. "I do hope their paying you overtime… all those raids…"

He reached into the cauldron and extracted an old and battered secondhand (or maybe third) book, _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_.

He sneered again. "Clearly not," he said. "Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"

Mr. Weasley flushed deeply. "We have different points of view on what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy," he said.

"Obviously," said Malfoy, his pale eyes straying to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who had walked up behind Hermione and were watching interestedly. He 'tsk'ed. "The company you keep, Weasley… and I thought you could sink no lower—"

A thud sounded when Ginny's cauldron went flying. Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backward into a bookshelf.

The bookshelf started to tumble, and everyone but the two fighting men jumped backward out of the way.

Harry saw it begin to fall, almost as if in slow motion. He put his hand up and caught it with magic, pushing it back against the wall and steadying while everyone turned to look at him.

Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy, oblivious of the danger they had been in, continued to roll around, hitting each other.

"Stop!" Harry commanded, enforcing his demand with magic.

Both froze, incapable of movement. Mr. Weasley had a cut lip, and Mr. Malfoy's eye seemed to be swelling. Malfoy was still clutching the Transfiguration book.

Harry separated them from where he was standing, feet away. He lifted the spell on them and they began moving again, growling at each other, but not attacking.

"Don't you dare start fighting again," Harry said, danger in his tone. "This isn't the place, and this isn't a good way to uphold the family _honour_."

Lucius Malfoy took the book and thrust it back at Ginny. "Here, girl—take your book—it's the best your father can give you—" And he stalked off, dragging Draco with him, the boy still apologizing to Harry and Ron and Hermione with the look on his face.

Everyone was gaping at Harry now. Harry looked around and noticed that no one was moving, so he summoned the other books he needed from the shelves, them flying into a stack in front of him, and turned to pay.

The bustle of activity started again as soon as Harry stepped outside to wait for the Grangers and the Weasleys and Vanella.

He didn't have to wait long. Ron came running up, "Bloody hell, Harry, we didn't know you could do that! Without even a wand!"

Harry shrugged. "I've been at the castle surrounded by professors all summer, remember? You'd be surprised at what else I can do." Harry wolf-smiled.

Mrs. Weasley stormed out of the shop seconds later, furious with her husband for fighting in public, and was making it quite clear, but was still surprised with the actions Harry had taken. "What Gilderoy Lockhart must have thought, Harry here saving you from a concussion while you brawl on the floor with another grown man!"

"He was pleased," said Fred, one of the twins. "Didn't you hear him as we were leaving? He was asking that bloke from the Daily Prophet if he'd be able to work the fight into his report, and Harry's swift save—said it was all publicity –"

The Weasleys and the Grangers and Vanella headed back to the fireside in the Leaky Cauldron, because they were floo-ing home. Harry said his good-byes and set off to find Snape.

Harry carried his books down to the apothecary, where he figured Snape would be.

He walked in to find Severus haggling with the owner over the price of a pair of Dragon's eyes. Harry leaned against the doorframe to wait.

Professor Snape got the lowest price possible and made his way over to Harry, clutching the container of the two Dragon's eyes.

"You don't need anything else, Harry? No quills, no ink, no parchment, no cauldron?"

Harry shook his head. "All I needed were the books this year," he said, indicating to the stack in his hands.

Severus nodded his understanding and they left for Hogwarts, apparating for one, teleporting for the other.

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Author's Note: I'm happy to say that I owe nobody money. ReflectionsOfReality said 'thestral' in the review, but just about every other magical creature I can think of was listed also, so I don't think that counts. Congratulations to everyone who guessed it but didn't review, though.

There were tons of good guesses though! And, sorry to say, even if you all could have found "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them", unfortunately the thestral isn't in there. I checked, probably more than once (I can't remember). Had I thought of some of the creatures everyone sent to me, though, I might have chose differently. Difficult to say, now.

Oh well. Read on!


	4. Dobby and Lockhart's Traumatic Experienc

Chapter 33, **Dobby**** and Lockhart's Experience**

Something was jumping on him.

That's what it felt like.

He was used to waking up to a pillow upside the head because of Severus, but this was different.

Something was _jumping_ on him. On his stomach.

Harry opened one eye and restrained a scream. He recognized the creature as a house elf, as he had seen one before. This one had a long, pointy nose and huge, green, tennis ball eyes. Its ears were three sizes too big for it's head, and it was wearing a pillowcase.

"Who in the bloody hell are you?" he whispered harshly.

"Dobby, sir! Dobby is here to serve!"

"I don't need a house elf right now, Dobby, so it would be good if you went back to the kitchen and let me sleep."

Harry rolled over and covered his head with the blanket, only to have it ripped back off him.

"No, sir! Dobby is not from here, sir! Dobby has come to warn Harry Potter!"

"Warn Harry Potter about what?"

"That bad things will happen in Hogwarts this year! That Harry Potter must go home to remain safe!"

Harry frowned at the elf. "Hogwarts is my home, Dobby. I cannot leave here."

"But Harry Potter is not safe at Hogwarts! Harry Potter must leave!"

"Why? What danger will hit Hogwarts this year, Dobby? You can tell me."

Dobby opened his mouth to speak, then ran and banged his head against the cold, stone wall.

Harry yelped. "Dobby! Stop that, you'll wake up Professor Snape, and come sit down."

Dobby's eyes, if possible, widened more than they already were. He wailed. "Harry Potter has asked Dobby to sit down!"

Harry stammered, "Have I insulted you? I'm sorry!"

Dobby shook his head. "No, Harry Potter has treated Dobby like equal!" He wailed again and bit his own finger. "No wizard has ever done such a thing!" Dobby wailed louder.

"Dobby, Dobby please stop. If you wake up Professor Snape we'll both be in trouble."

Dobby sniffled. "Dobby doesn't worry about waking Professor Snape, because Professor Snape is not sleeping."

"What?"

"Professor Snape is in Potions lab. Professor Snape is not sleeping."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. _Curious_. "Alright, then what about this warning."

"Harry Potter must go home!"

"Harry Potter _is_ home!"

"Hogwarts is not safe this year, and Harry Potter must leave!"

Harry heard something stir in the other room. "Dobby must leave!"

Dobby stopped to listen. Then with one last warning to Harry he disappeared with a loud 'pop!'.

Then the door opened, and Snape's head popped in. "Hello?"

Harry, who was still sitting up, looked over at him. "Hi."

"Who are you talking to?"

Harry looked back to Saliza, who was sleeping peacefully through the whole ordeal. "Myself." For some reason he didn't want to tell Snape about Dobby.

Severus frowned. "You argue with yourself now?"

Harry gave a nervous smile. "What time is it?"

The older man pulled his head out to check the clock on the mantle. "Half past midnight."

"Oh. Sorry for waking you, or—" Harry noticed his professor was still completely dressed "—disturbing you, or whatever."

Snape nodded and disappeared out the door.

Harry fell back into the bed with a thump and went back to sleep.

Harry got two other visits from Dobby in the following week and a half.

The morning of the Sorting Feast he woke up to a pillow against his head. One—two—three times.

"Up!"

He rolled over and, with a loud crash, fell right off the bed.

Snape laughed at him and walked out the door, leaving Harry to gently rub his head where he hit it against the stone floor.

He saved time by charming himself clean and into new robes. Then he walked into the living room, where Severus was ordering breakfast for the two of them.

When his professor was finished, he asked, "Why'd you get me up so early? It's not a school day yet."

"Albus has work for you. And we have to move your things to the dormitory, and set up the Great Hall for the feast."

"Work for me?"

"He needs you to transport something to the Ministry of Magic."

"He can't do it himself?"

"No, it's too big to owl, and too big and fragile to apparate."

"So, what, you want me to teleport it?"

"No, we need you to fly it."

"Isn't that risky?"

"No, we tie it to your back, you fly to the Ministry of Magic, an official will take it, and you fly or teleport yourself back."

The house elf delivered their breakfast, and they sat to eat. "Alright. I'll deliver it, then."

After breakfast Harry morphed into a thestral, and Dumbledore tried to tie a large package to his back.

The man frowned. "That's not going to work. Harry, can you hold the string in your mouth and let it swing?"

The thestral's head moved up and down. Albus handed the package over, letting Harry take the rope between his teeth.

"If you can, Harry, make the package invisible so as not to attract attention. If you can't, I will."

Harry made it invisible without real difficulty.

"Now Harry, the Ministry of Magic is in Muggle London, so it doesn't really look like a magical building. It's underground, the entrance a few blocks from the Leaky Cauldron. Hagrid will be standing in front of the telephone booth, stop in front of him; he can see you."

Harry nodded again, unable of normal conversation.

"All right, we'll be expecting you in a few hours. You know the way to London?"

Harry nodded. He'd follow the train tracks.

"Okay, good luck."

Harry nodded and took off. He followed the train tracks back to London, locating the Leaky Cauldron and flying higher to get a better look around. He spotted Hagrid during one of his circles around the block and dropped down in front of him, lowering the package carefully.

Hagrid took the package and stroked Harry's neck. "There's a good boy, Harry. Good ter see ye again."

Harry nodded his head.

"Alrigh' 'Arry, fly back to Hogwarts now before Dumbledore misses ye."

Harry nodded and took off, leaving Hagrid to the package.

He made it back to Hogwarts in record time, flying in and landing next to the lake. He trotted up to the doors before morphing back to human.

McGonagall ushered him through the castle when he entered. "You've been gone for _hours_! Albus wants to give you a final test before term!"

They began to climb the stairs to Dumbledore's office, but when she blinked her eyes she was right in front of the gargoyle.

She turned to Harry. "Don't _do _that, it's scary when you don't know it's coming!"

"Apologies," he said, "but you sounded like we were in a hurry."

She huffed and gave the password to the gargoyle, which jumped out of the way so they could ascend the magical escalator.

Dumbledore was waiting at his desk. "Hello, Harry," he said.

"Hi."

Minerva moved and sat down.

"What am I here for?" Harry asked.

"I want to give you another test," said the Headmaster. "Severus told me of your little trick in his chambers a few weeks ago, and how you've been doing even more of it lately, being able to stable everything in the air, and do things without looking, without even a second thought. Even when he disturbs you, nothing drops. This is, to say the least, impressive. Your reflexes are impeccable; in the last test you blocked all of us, even when the Professors were trying. All of us."

Harry listened expressionlessly, regardless of the praise.

"Now I want to know one last thing."

Harry tilted his head in inquiry.

"Shake the castle."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "What?"

"Shake the castle. If you can."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "I don't understand. Shake the castle?"

"Concentrate, create an earthquake. Shake it."

Harry concentrated. After a minute, the castle vibrated slightly for a second. Harry opened his eyes and let out a breath, breathing deeply. "That's the best I can do right now," he said, "I'm still tired from the flight."

Albus nodded and said, "That's all right, Harry, you did more than I expected. You are dismissed."

Harry stood.

"All your things have been moved to your second year dormitory, and, if you'd like, you can help the Professors in the Great Hall. I shall see you soon."

The boy teleported to the Great Hall, surprising its residents.

"Hello," he said.

"Harry Potter!" yelled a familiar voice. "So good to see you again." The voice grew confused. "But why is he here before the rest of the studunts?"

"He has special circumstances, Gilderoy," said Snape. He turned to Harry. "Want to get a little practice in before the other students come?"

Harry nodded, a grin spreading across his face.

Lockhart looked confused. "Practice? What are you all talking about?"

Minerva appeared at the doors. "We're practicing again? How much can you take in one day, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "I happen to find practicing fun. How many other students get to curse their professors?"

"Cursing? Who's cursing the professors? I didn't sign up for this!"

Snape patted Lockart's shoulder with a smirk. "Don't worry, Gilderoy, it's only a second year boy. I'm sure you can defend yourself. All those adventures of yours should be plenty of experience."

"In position!" Minerva yelled to the others.

The walls with the doors appeared and the Professors disappeared behind them. Except Lockhart. "What's wrong, Professor Lockhart? Aren't you going to help me practice?"

"What do I do?" Lockhart asked, sounding worried.

Harry shrugged. "Attack me."

"Attack you! You're a student!"

"So? Attack."

"You're not even armed!"

"You'd be surprised."

A tabby cat appeared out of one of the doors suddenly. It darted around the room and turned into McGonagall. She threw a '_stupefy_' at Harry, who blocked it and stuck her to the wall with a sticking spell. The moment she was incapable, Professor Flitwick appeared behind Harry, shooting a '_petrificus__ totalus_'. Harry blocked it with the '_murus__ vitrum_'spell, which sent the curse back at Flitwick. The little man was frozen in place. Gilderoy Lockhart looked utterly shocked. A second year boy was disarming all the Professors without even a wand!

Professor Snape came out sending a '_delegavi_'. Harry protected himself with a '_protego_' and '_expelliarmus_'ed Snape, then threw his own '_delegavi_'. Severus fell against the wall, rendered incapable of movement.

Harry took care of the other professors without difficulty, and, once they were all disarmed, and Lockhart was sufficiently scared, he turned to his new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

"You're last. Attack me."

Lockhart whimpered.

"You're the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, you should be the hardest. Attack me. I need the practice."

"Practice for what?"

Harry shrugged. "Just… practice."

Lockhart raised his wand. "**_Expelliarmus_**!"

Harry furrowed his eyebrows and held out his hands. "I'm not armed, you told me that yourself."

"**_Petrificus_**_ **totalus**_!"

Harry tossed it aside with a wave of his hand.

"**_Deieci_**!"

Blocked.

"**_Delegavi_**!"

Blocked.

"**_Aegrum_**!"

Blocked.

"**_Spectare_****_ nihil_**!"

Blocked.

"**_Rictusempra_**!"

Blocked.

"**_Tantellegra_**!"

Blocked.

"**_Inflavi_**!"

Blocked.

"**_Madidum_**!"

Blocked.

"**_Impuli_**!"

Blocked.

"**_Surdum_**!"

Blocked.

"**_Infirmum_**!"

Blocked.

"How am I supposed to do anything to you if you always block it?"

Harry rolled his eyes and petrified his new Defense teacher. "How am I supposed to practice if you don't block my spells or at least throw something good at me?"

Lockhart just stared, rigid.

Just then Dumbledore appeared. He walked through one of the doors behind Harry and threw a '_stupefy_' at him, who blocked it without even turning to face the caster.

Dumbledore smiled, twinkling merrily. "Good, Harry. Now fix this mess so it looks presentable when the students get here."

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Author's Note: Well. Looks like Harry's got a wee bit of power. Fun.

Tell me if you want me to post the spell translations. I just wanted to get these chapters up because it's been so long. Because of school. Unfortunately I must return daily to the prison (metaphorically speaking; I'm not jail-bound), which makes it harder for me to come home and make the adjustments I want to make to this story. Once again, apologies.


	5. Sorting Feast and Mandrakes

Quick Author's Note: Credit for the Sorting Hat's song is shared with my friend, BM, who gave me the rough draft before I made finishing touches. Thanks!!

Chapter 34, **Sorting Feast and Mandrakes**

Harry was seated at the Slytherin table when the students poured in. Vanella and Draco came in close to first, seating themselves across from him.

The first thing Draco did was apologize for his father's performance at Flourish and Blott's.

"S'alright, Draco. I don't expect everyone to like me."

"No, see, I even told him you were my friend. He doesn't care, he only cares that you destroyed You-Know-Who." His voice dropped to a whisper that only Harry and Vanella could catch. "He was a big supporter before his downfall. We've got so much Dark Arts stuff hidden in our house."

"Isn't the Ministry performing searches now? For Dark Arts stuff like that?" Vanella asked.

Draco nodded. "That's why he was in a sour mood yesterday. He had just been selling things in Knockturn Alley, because the Ministry decided to meddle in his privacy."

Harry and Vanella nodded as the first years lined up in front of the congregation. Minerva McGonagall had put the Sorting Hat in its usual spot for the Sorting.

The hat's mouth opened and it began to sing:

"_Oh, you may not think I'm pretty, _

_Though I could be considered striking, _

_Don't judge on my appearance_

_If that's not to your liking.___

_Now let me back to my appointed subject,_

_And introduce myself to you,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat, _

_And reading your mind is what I do._

_There's nothing hidden in your head,_

_That I, the Sorting Hat, can't see._

_Unless you've a pea-brain full of lead,_

_There's nothing you can hide from me._

_You may belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where **most** all have courage as a lion.___

_Their bravery, nerves and chivalry,_

_Place them their house in._

_Or perhaps you belong in Hufflepuff;_

_Where all are just and loyal.___

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true,_

_And unafraid of toil._

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, _

_If you've a ready mind, full of wit,_

_Along with the ability to learn, _

_And satisfaction for what they get._

_But perhaps you belong in Slytherin, _

_Where your real friends you'll acquire._

_Those cunning persons use any means_

_To achieve their greatest desire._

_I can see it all; no secrets here!_

_I see all that there is to see._

_So step on up; put me on!_

_I'll tell you where you ought to be._"

When it finished, Professor McGonagall unrolled a piece of parchment and began calling names for the Sorting Ceremony.

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The sorting went off without a hitch, Ron's little sister joining the rest of the family in Gryffindor, and a few others being sorted into each house.

Once the students were settled in, sitting with their newly acquired family, Dumbledore stood to give his yearly announcement.

"Nothing exciting this year, students, just the always insistent urge that you stay away from the Forbidden Forest, because, as you might guess, it is forbidden. Also, Mr. Filch has added more things to the forbidden items list this year, and that list is posted on the door of his office, if you feel the need to check it. Now that that's over with, enjoy the feast!"

The food appeared and everyone began to eat.

Harry looked down at his plate, where a chicken leg had already made its home. "How did this get here? I didn't—" he felt a tug at his navel and the world began to spin. He closed his eyes.

When the spinning stopped and Harry opened his eyes, it was to a very shocked Dursley family.

"**_YOU_**!" Vernon Dursley shouted, standing quickly, knocking over his chair and disturbing the glasses and food on the kitchen table.

Petunia Dursley and a very chubby Dudley Dursley just sat, gaping at the boy that just appeared between their kitchen table and the hallway.

"What are you doing in my house! Just _appearing _like you own the place. No doubt using that filth!"

"Uncle Vernon—"

"Don't you 'Uncle Vernon' me! You're supposed to be far, far away, stuck with some foster family, or dead!"

"Well—"

"Who gave you the right to even come back here!"

"I—"

"_Don't_ you go talking to me like we're friends! We—"

"**UNCLE VERNON!** **_Silence_**!"

Vernon Dursley stopped talking very abruptly. He was not used to being yelled at by the nephew he had treated so badly.

"I did not mean to come here, I promise. I would never come back here had I any option at all, and I don't know how I got here in the first place." He looked down at the chicken leg still in his hand. "I _suspect_ it had something to do with _this_," he said maliciously, throwing the leg at Vernon's forehead. It clanked off the head of a very shocked Dursley.

The rage was rolling off Harry in waves, and, as much as he tried to concentrate, Harry couldn't teleport himself back to Hogwarts. Harry growled and walked out the front door. He morphed painfully and carelessly into a thestral and took to the air.

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Two hours later he arrived on the front lawn of Hogwarts, landing next to the lake and galloping up to the front doors.

They were locked. The feast was over, and everyone was settling themselves into their dorms.

Harry stopped and tried to concentrate. He teleported himself to in front of the gargoyle of Dumbledore's office. It jumped away from the entrance, having been charmed to recognize him from all his trips during the summer. Harry climbed the stairs and knocked on the door, fuming.

"Come in," said a voice from the inside.

Harry entered and found himself face to face with most of the staff. He was angry enough to be smoking from the ears.

"Hello, Harry," Albus said.

"Hello, Headmaster," Harry responded through clenched teeth. "Would you like to inform me of why a piece of chicken transported me all the way back to the Dursley's kitchen? And then that I couldn't get through the front doors?"

"Oh, that's what happened? You caused quite an uproar disappearing like that."

"It's not my fault! What the bloody hell did that?"

"Most likely a portkey. Do you still have the chicken, Harry?"

Harry shook his head. "I may have…accidentally, of course…" –he cleared his throat— "…thrown it at my Uncle's head."

Albus hid a smile successfully. "We will try to find the one who set up the portkey to the Dursley's house. When we find them they will be given efficient punishment, but until then, I believe your dorm members are worried about your whereabouts."

With a nod to all the other professors, Harry left.

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Harry's first class of term was Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws. McGonagall was having them transfigure beetles into buttons.

Harry immediately raised his hand. Professor McGonagall called on him.

"Can I do this without my wand, Professor?"

"Do you not have it?"

"Professor Dumbledore told me not to carry it around unless I had to."

"Oh. Well, then, can you do it without your wand?"

"Probably."

"Then stop talking and try with the rest of the class!"

With the hard work of the lesson, the confusion around Harry's lack of wand disappeared. Few people managed to turn their beetles into buttons because of their lack of practice over the summer. Vanella and Draco both managed, but Harry had a little trouble.

Afterwards, they headed to Herbology with the Hufflepuffs. Professor Sprout ushered them to Greenhouse Three.

"We'll be repotting Mandrakes today. Who can tell me what Mandrakes are?" she asked, standing beside a trestle bench in the middle of the greenhouse. A bunch of earmuffs were on the bench.

Justin Finch-Fletchley raised his hand, and Sprout called on him for the answer. He said, "The Mandrake is a powerful restorative. It's a very important part of most antidotes."

"Very good. Ten points to Hufflepuff," said Professor Sprout. "So, who can tell me why Mandrakes are also dangerous?"

Finch-Fletchley's hand raised again, and he said, "The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to those who hear it."

"Precisely. Another ten points. Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young." She pointed to a row of deep trays while she spoke. The students shuffled forward for a better look. In the trays were a hundred or so purplish-green, tufty little plants, growing in rows. They didn't look particularly exciting to Harry, who didn't really understand about the 'cry' of the Mandrake, as he read more about charms and hexes and potions, not herbology.

"Everyone take a pair of earmuffs," said Professor Sprout.

They all scrambled to retrieve a pair of earmuffs that wasn't pink and fluffy.

"When I say so, put them on and make sure that your ears are _completely_ covered. This is dangerous, remember," said Professor Sprout. "When it's safe to remove them, I'll give you the thumbs-up. Ready? Earmuffs _on._"

Harry snapped the earphones over his ears while Vanella and Draco did the same. Up at the front, Professor Sprout put the pink, fluffy earmuffs over her own ears, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grabbed one of the purplish tufts and pulled—hard.

Harry's eyes widened considerably.

Instead of roots, a small, muddy and incredibly ugly baby popped out of the pot. The leaves were growing right out of its ugly head. It had pale green, mottled skin, and was clearly bawling at the top of his lungs.

Professor Sprout took a larger plant pot from under the table and stuffed the Mandrake into it, covering it with dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. Professor Sprout dusted off her hands and gave the students the thumbs-up sign. Then she removed her own earmuffs. The class followed suit.

"As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill yet," she said calmly. "However, they _will_ knock you out for a few hours, and since none of you want to miss the rest of your first day back, make sure that your earmuffs are firmly in place. I'll attract your attention when it is time to pack up.

Four to a tray—there's a large supply of pots here—compost in the sacks over there—and be careful of the Venemous Tentacula, it's teething."

Vanella, Draco, and Harry went to a tray, and were soon joined by the Hufflepuff boy, Justin Finch-Flechley.

They didn't talk much after a quick exchange of words, as they had to snap their earmuffs on to concentrate on the Mandrakes. The Mandrakes didn't like coming out of the pots, but they didn't like going back in either. Professor Sprout had made it look much easier than it actually was. They squirmed, kicked, flailed their sharp little fists, and gnashed their teeth. Harry spent ten minutes trying to squash a particularly fat one into a pot.

By the end of the class, Harry, like everyone else, was sweaty, aching, and covered in earth. Everyone traipsed back to the castle for lunch.

Harry charmed Vanella, Draco, and himself clean before walking into the Great Hall.

"What's next?" he asked Vanella.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts with Lockhart. Ought to be interesting."

Harry snorted. "Yea, interesting. That's the word."

Draco grabbed a ham sandwich and began to eat. "I hear Lockhart's a big fake."

Vanella nodded as Harry said, "I bet. When I told him to attack me the other day, he couldn't even hit me with a spell. I petrified him, no problems."

"Told him to attack you?" Draco said in disbelief, still chewing.

Harry nodded up and down and finished chewing. He swallowed hard. "I didn't tell you? Well, Dumbledore's been training me in self-defense and dueling and such, and wandless magic. All the Professors attacked me at least a hundred times, and each of them must have gotten at least one shot in. Except Lockhart."

"Self defense and dueling?"

"Wandless magic?"

"And—" Harry leaned in and lowered his voice to a whisper "—they trained me to be an animagus."

Vanella's eyes widened. "You're an animagus, Harry?"

Harry nodded.

"What animal do you become?" asked Draco.

Harry leaned back again. "A thestral."

Both of them furrowed their eyebrows. "Thestral?"

Harry nodded again. "Yes. Dumbledore says that Hagrid has a pack tamed and trained, but they're usually dangerous. Some pull the school carriages. They're horse-like."

"Pull the school carriages? Those pull themselves, don't they? I never saw any horse-like animals pulling the carriages," Draco said.

"Neither have I," said Vanella.

Harry took another bite of the apple he had started. "That's because they're only visible to people who have seen death."

Vanella shivered lightly, frowning. "That's kind of dark, Harry."

"I know."

Draco looked over Vanella's shoulder at something going on at the Gryffindor table. "What's going on?"

Harry looked and Vanella turned. "Oh," she said, "it would appear that Ron's seen Hermione's schedule."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "What's wrong with Hermione's schedule?"

"She's decorated all the Defense Against the Dark Arts classes with little hearts. She's got a thing for Lockhart."

Harry grimaced. "She'll see the err of her ways eventually."

"Hopefully the first time he makes a fool of himself," Draco said.

Vanella snorted.

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Author's Note: Okay, that's enough for today. Um… the next chapter is the first Defense Against the Dark Arts class. "Ought to be interesting."

There a three chapter update. Sorry I was this long getting these up, but I was overloaded with the beginning of school and too lazy to sit down and proofread everything. But, yesterday I took out the computer and proofread all the way to C43, then wrote another two. Maybe I'll make a pattern of the days I update now, just to keep it in some sort of order. How about, in a couple days, I'll put up another. Or maybe tomorrow. Depends on reviews, I guess.

I can almost promise it won't be this long though. It drives me _insane_ when someone doesn't post for this long, so I'm going to do my best not to drive you all insane.

Until next time. Which should hopefully be soon. Toodles.


	6. Gilderoy Lockhart and the Voice

Chapter 35, **Gilderoy Lockhart and the Voice**

After lunch they headed to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Halfway there, Harry was rushed by a first year clutching a Muggle camera.

"Harry Potter?"

Harry raised an eyebrow and nodded.

"I'm Colin Creevey. I'm in Gryffindor."

Harry stared at him blankly.

"Do you think—it would be all right if—can I have a picture?" he asked, raising the camera hopefully.

"A picture?" Harry repeated blankly.

"So I can prove I've met you," said Colin Creevey eagerly, stepping forward. "I know all about you. Everyone's told me. About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you've still got a lightning scar on your forehead" (his eyes raked Harry's hairline "and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures'll _move_." Colin drew a great shuddering breath of excitement and said, "It's _amazing_ here, isn't it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad's a milkman, he couldn't believe it either. So I'm taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it'd be really good if I had one of you. Maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?"

"_Signed photos_? Who's giving out _signed photos_?" Lockhart asked, striding up to them, smiling with every single one of his teeth.

He saw Harry and flung an arm around his shoulders. "Shouldn't have asked! We meet again, Harry!" He seemed to be over his own humiliation of the day before.

Pinned to Lockhart's side and burning with humiliation, Harry got that familiar I-wish-I-could-turn-invisible feeling. But this time he remembered that he could.

"Sorry, Colin," he said, "maybe later." To Vanella and Draco: "I'll see you in the classroom."

And he vanished, shifting out of focus until he wasn't even there.

Lockhart's arm slammed against his own side, because the thing he had been holding there was gone, much to his chagrin. Colin Creevey looked positively mortified; he hadn't gotten his picture yet! Vanella and Draco, who were soon joined by Ron and Hermione, looked mildly surprised, as Harry had informed them, with little detail, of his teleportation and invisibility abilities.

After the original uproar of a student disappearing for the second time in 24 hours, they all continued to class, where Harry was waiting, unshrinking all of his Defense Against the Dark Arts books, and levitating Lockhart's desk and everything on it.

Lockhart was the first to enter the classroom, and seemed to be under the impression that his desk was possessed and levitating itself. He pressed his back against the wall next to the door and watched the stuff on his desk do flips while the students filtered in after the bell.

Harry was still playing with the desk when the classroom was full. Everyone's eyes were darting between a terrified Lockhart and a floating desk.

"Well, come on, Professor Lockhart," said Hermione, unaware that this was Harry's doing, "this is just a floating desk, compared to everything you've done in your books."

A few of the other students murmured their agreement.

"Yea," Vanella said, knowing perfectly well that it was Harry, who was sitting there restraining his laughter, "after all, a simple counter-levitation charm would do the trick, if you're more powerful than the castor of the original levitation charm."

Lockhart took out his wand and cast a weak counter-levitation charm. It didn't work. He looked at the door to his private office.

"I…inch…my way around the desk," he said, narrating his movements, "careful of whatever's possessing it. Then I…inch…open the door to my office, and…slip…inside." He left the door open.

The class looked at it bewildered. Draco leaned over to Vanella, "What's he doing?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Cowering in fear?"

Then Lockhart reappeared, followed by a bemused Albus Dumbledore. "See?" Lockhart whispered, "the desk's possessed by something."

The class laughed.

Vanella shook her head. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," she whispered.

Albus smiled. "More like someone, Gilderoy," he said. He turned to a grinning Harry. "Put the desk down, Harry, please."

Harry set the desk on the floor and organized everything on it back to the way it was.

"Thank you, Harry. And I must ask that you do not play with a Professor's things, without his permission. Next time it will be detention."

"Yes, sir," Harry said promptly.

"Good." Dumbledore turned to Lockhart. "Will that be all, Gilderoy?"

Lockhart nodded, a confused expression on his face.

"Then return to your teaching."

And Dumbledore left through the floo in Lockhart's office.

Lockhart turned to the class. "Well, now," he said, paying close attention to Harry, whose eyes were wide in a feigned innocence expression, "let's commence our lesson."

He reached forward and picked up Neville Longbottom's copy of _Travels with Trolls _(everyone had taken their books out). He pointed at the cover, where a winking picture of Lockhart himself was winking and smiling at the class. Lockhart winked also, saying, "Me. Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of _Witch Weekley's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award—but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by _smiling_ at her!"

He waited for people to laugh. Clearly he had rehearsed this. A few people resisted the urge to laugh at him, and not his joke.

"I see you've all bought a complete set of my books—well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about—just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in…"

When he'd handed out the test papers he returned to the front of the class and told them, "You've thirty minutes…start…_now_!"

Harry looked at the quiz and began reading the questions:

_1. __What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?_

_2. __What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?_

_3. __What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?_

On and on for three sides of paper went the ridiculous questions, up until the last one:

_54. __When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?_

Looking at them, Harry wished he had bothered with the absurd, smiling man's books.

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them at the front of the class.

"Tut, tut—hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in _Year of the Yeti_. And a few of you need to read _Wanderings with Werewolves_ more carefully—I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples—though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey!"

He winked again. Ron, Harry, and Draco were all watching Lockhart with expressions of disbelief on their faces, while Vanella was watching him with mild amusement. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas were shaking with silent laughter. Hermione, though, was listening to him with rapt attention and gave a start when he mentioned her name.

"…but Miss Hermione Granger knew me secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions—good girl! In fact" — he flipped her paper over — "full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"

Hermione raised a trembling hand.

"Excellent!" beamed Lockhart. "Quite excellent! Take ten points for Gryffindor! And so—to business—"

He brought a large, covered cage out of his office and set it on his desk. "Now—be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that now harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm."

Harry found himself considered what animals he's read about that could fit in that cage. Lockhart put his hand on the cover, and Dean and Seamus stopped laughing. Neville Longbottom was cowering in his front row seat. Vanella and Draco were staring at Lockhart with something between disbelief and amusement. And over in the Gryffindor side, Hermione was swooning while Ron looked positively sickened.

"I must ask you not to scream," Lockhart said in a low voice. "It might provoke them."

As the class held its breath, and Harry raised his eyebrow, Lockhart whipped off the cover.

"Yes," he said dramatically. "_Freshly caught Cornish pixies_."

Seamus Finnigan couldn't control himself. He let out a snort of laughter that even Lockhart couldn't mistake for a scream of terror.

"Yes?" Lockhart asked, smiling at Seamus.

"Well, they're not—they're not very—_dangerous_, are they?" Seamus choked.

"Don't be so sure!" said Lockhart, waggling a finger annoyingly at Seamus. "Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!"

The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing. The moment the cover had been removed, they had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making bizarre faces at the people nearest them.

"Right, then," Lockhart said loudly. "Let's see what you make of them!" And he opened the cage.

It was pandemonium. The pixies shot in every direction like rockets. Two of them seized Neville by the ears and lifted him into the air. Several shot straight through the window, showering the back row with broken glass. The rest proceeded to wreck the classroom more effectively than a rampaging rhino. They grabbed ink bottles and sprayed the class with them, shredding books and papers, tore pictures from the walls, up-ended the waste basket, grabbed bags and books and threw them out of the smashed window; within minutes, half the class was sheltering under desks and Neville was swinging from the iron chandelier in the ceiling.

Harry cast a protective shield over Vanella, Draco, Ron, Hermione, and himself. Then he took Neville off the chandelier and set him back down. He joined most of the others under the desk. Lockhart was batting them off at the front of the class. Harry grinned and directed the other pixies towards him.

"Come on now," Lockhart said, batting a pixie away from his ear. "Round them up, round them up, they're only pixies."

"Sir, they're only bothering you," Dean Thomas pointed out.

Lockhart took out his wand and bellowed, "**_Peskipiksi_****_ Pesternomi_**!"

It had no effect; one of the pixies seized his wand and threw it out of the window, too. Lockhart gulped and dived under his own desk.

The bell rang and there was a mad rush toward the exit. Harry was the last one out. He turned to Lockhart when he reached the door. "I'll do you a favor," he said, eyeing the pixies, "since you clearly cannot handle these yourself." Harry '_immobulus_'ed all the pixies in midair, and they floated around helplessly. "Just stuff them back in their cages." He left, ignoring Lockhart's bewildered expression.

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Things went pretty much the same way over the next few days. Lockhart was still obnoxious, and Harry still had fun messing with his head whenever he thought he could without getting in trouble. Harry found it difficult to avoid Colin Creevey, who still wanted his signed picture. Lockhart had given up saying that Harry was trying to grab publicity after the first time Harry disappeared in his arms.

Anyway, Harry and the others were glad when the weekend came.

Dumbledore had arranged so Harry still had his Defense practices once a week, on Sunday nights. He'd also given Harry permission to fly around the grounds, as long as he didn't leave them, and didn't morph in public.

Harry was headed back to the Slytherin common room late on Saturday night when he heard it. A voice in the wall. A voice that chilled to the bone marrow, a voice of breath-taking, ice-cold venom.

"_Come… come to me…. Let me rip you…. Let me tear you…. Let me kill you…._"

Harry stopped dead in his tracks and listened, eyes darting around. "Hello?" he called. But the voice had already moved away. He stood there for quite some time, shaken. Then he ran back to the Slytherin house headquarters.

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Author's Note: _Now_ we're getting somewhere. Ooooo, fun.

I know, I know… similar to the book, I understand. It pains me to write similarities like this, but I wouldn't do it if it wasn't _necessary_, I promise.

The writer's urge for reviews is getting the best of me, it seems… I'm back to writing again, after a break. But I may need more reviews to keep that fire going… so I would be much obliged if you all gave your opinions, especially on the Ginny deal, because I do value them all.

Next chapter up soon. Soon as I get it up.


	7. The Chamber of Secrets

This chapter is in dear celebration of the fact that I've reached 200 reviews on Book One… thanks to you all!!

Chapter 36, **The Chamber of Secrets**

October arrived, chilling the grounds and the castle, and making it too cold for Harry to fly often. A spread of colds among the students and the staff kept many of the students inside. But Madam Pomfrey's Pepperup potion worked instantly, though it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours.

The Quidditch season had long since started. Draco made keeper for Slytherin, because the old one graduated, and was playing well. His father even supplied the whole team with _Nimbus Two Thousand and One_s, except Harry, who happened to feel comfortable on and like his _Nimbus Two Thousand_.

All in all, his classes and schoolwork teamed up with Quidditch sufficiently pushed the bone-chilling voice out of Harry's mind. He hadn't heard it since, and hadn't told anyone of it for lack of a good reason to.

And October droned on, unexciting, bringing the winter weather with it, until finally Halloween came. The school was happily anticipating the Halloween feast; the Great Hall had been decorated with live bats, Hagrid had grown gigantic pumpkins and had them carved them into lanterns large enough for three men to sit in, and Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons. The Hall was glittering with gold plates and candles, and the entire school packed themselves in for the house elves' remarkable feast.

"Where are the ghosts?" Vanella asked, once they had packed themselves between some of the Slytherin table's occupants.

Harry shrugged. "Ron said something about Nearly Headless Nick having a deathday party."

"A deathday party?" said Draco.

Vanella gave Harry an inquiring glance before stacking roast ham on her plate and bobbing her head to the music the skeletons were dancing to. "He's celebrating his death? Sounds kind of dark and depressing to me."

Harry shrugged again, putting turkey and mashed potatoes on his own plate. "I bet it is. But he's been depressed about some Headless Hunt lately and having a bunch of ghost friends may cheer him up again."

Draco began eating chicken with barbecue sauce. Between mouthfuls, he asked, "How do you know so much about the Gryffindor ghost? You're Slytherin. Feed us with facts about the Bloody Baron."

"Ron and Hermione have told me about the Gryffindor ghost. And, no offense, but the Bloody Baron's not someone I really want to know much about. He's kind of…"

"Creepy," Vanella finished.

Harry nodded. "Exactly. Creepy."

They watched the dancing skeletons for a few minutes while they ate. The skeletons waved around canes and swept around their black top hats, marching around during their routine.

Eventually Harry yawned. This tore Vanella's attention of the skeletons. "Harry?"

He looked at her. "Yea?"

"Where you the one that cursed Lockhart's quills to run around the room screaming when he tried to use them?"

Harry grinned mischievously. "Maybe."

Draco looked over. "That was you?" He ate a biscuit. "Now that I think about it, it's really not all that surprising."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Really. They had '_Harry did it_' written all over them."

"Did they?"

"Yes."

"How is that?"

"Who else can do that? Only the seventh years, and they haven't been messing with Lockhart since you started."

Harry shrugged. "I haven't done all of that, you know. A lot of the seventh years have been pulling pranks because they know that I'll take the blame."

Vanella raised an eyebrow. "You haven't done everything?" She looked at Draco. "I guess we're giving more credit to him than he deserves."

Harry grinned. "Lockhart's too afraid to blame me, anyway. He's afraid I'll get out of hand during Sunday night practices and curse him."

"Why does Dumbledore keep him if he's so incredibly incompetent?" asked Vanella.

"No one else really wants the job," Harry said.

"'Cept Snape," said Draco, scooping pudding into a shiny bowl, "but Snape's already got the Potions position, and finding a teacher that knows that much about Potions is harder than finding a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

The others nodded and turned their attention back to the dancing skeletons.

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Half an hour later, before the feast even ended, the three began traipsing back to the Slytherin dorms, with plans of a good game of Wizard's Chess.

Suddenly Harry heard it again.

"_…rip…tear…kill…_"

The same cold, murderous voice he'd heard on his way to the dungeons weeks ago.

His eyes widened and he asked, "Could you guys hear that, too?"

Draco tilted his head in confusion, but Vanella nodded, a look of fear on her face.

Harry looked around, seeking out the speaker as Vanella did the same and Draco stood stupidly, confused. "Hear what?" he asked.

"Shut up a minute," Harry whispered, listening.

"_…soo hungry… for soo long…_"

He turned to Vanella. "You're hearing it, too?"

She nodded, the fear still apparent.

"_…kill…time to kill…_"

The voice was growing fainter, and it seemed to be moving upward. How could it be moving upward? Could it go through ceilings? Walls? Was it some sort of phantom? Why could Vanella and he hear it while Draco couldn't?

"Come on!" Vanella shouted, and they began to run back up the stairs, into the entrance hall. Harry sprinted up the marble staircase to the first floor, Vanella and Draco hot on his heels.

"What're we—"

"SHH!"

Harry and Vanella strained their ears. Distantly, from the floor above, and still growing fainter, they could hear the voice: "_…I sssmell blood….I SMELL BLOOD_!"

Harry's stomach lurched—

"It's going to kill someone!" he yelled. They ran up another flight of stairs three at a time, Draco still confused, but realizing the urgency. They strained to hear over their own pounding hearts and footsteps.

They ran around the whole of the second floor, panting, not stopping until they turned a corner into the last, deserted passage.

"What's going on?" asked Draco. "I didn't hear anything… what's killing what?"

But Vanella interrupted them with a small gasp. "_Look_, up there!" she said, pointing down the corridor.

Something was shining on the wall ahead. They edged closer for a better view. Foot-high words had been written on the wall between the windows, letters shining bright red in the light of the torches.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

"What's that—hanging underneath, there?" Draco asked.

As they edged closer, Harry almost slipped. There was a large puddle of water on the floor. Draco and Vanella grabbed him, and they inched towards the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. All three of them realized what it was at once, and leapt backward with a splash.

Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's cat, was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring.

For a few seconds they didn't move, then Vanella said, "Come on, let's get out of here."

"Shouldn't we try and help—" Harry began.

"Trust me," Draco said, steering him around, "we don't want to be found here."

But it was too late. A rumble, as though of distant thunder, told them that the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor where they stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs. The next moment, students were crashing into the passageway from both ends.

The chatter, the bustle, the noise died suddenly as the people in front spotted the hanging cat. Harry, Draco, and Vanella stood alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students pressing forward to see the grisly sight.

"Enemies of the Heir, beware? What's all this?" came a shouting voice through the quiet.

It was Gilderoy Lockhart, who had pushed his way to the front to see what had stopped such an animated crowd.

"What's going on here? What's going on?"

Attracted by Lockhart's shout over a silent, massive crowd, Argus Filch came shouldering his way through the crowd. Then he caught sight of Mrs. Norris and fell back, clutching his face in horror.

"My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?" he shrieked. His popping eyes fell on Harry.

"_You_!" he screeched. "_You_! You've murdered my cat! You've killed Mrs. Norris! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll—"

"_Argus_!"

Dumbledore had arrived on the scene, followed by a number of other teachers. In seconds, he had swept past Harry, Draco, and Vanella and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.

"Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "You, too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, Miss Incendie."

Lockhart stepped forward eagerly. "My office is nearest, Headmaster—just upstairs—please feel free—"

"Thank you, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore.

The silent crowd parted to let them pass. Lockhart, looking excited and important, hurried after Dumbledore; so did Professors McGonagall and Snape.

As they entered Lockhart's darkened office, there was a flurry of movement across the walls; Harry saw several of the Lockharts in the pictures dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers. The real Lockhart lit the candles on his desk and stood back. Dumbledore lay Mrs. Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her. Harry, Draco, and Vanella exchanged tense looks and sank into chairs outside the pool of candlelight, watching.

The tip of Dumbledore's long, crooked nose was barely an inch from Mrs. Norris's fur. He was looking at her closely through his half-moon spectacles, his long fingers gently prodding and poking. Professor McGonagall was bent almost as close, her eyes narrowed. Snape loomed behind them, half in shadow, wearing an amusing look: he was trying hard not to smile. And Lockhart was hovering around all of them, making suggestions.

"It was definitely a curse that killed her—probably the Transmogrifian Torture—I've seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn't there, I know the very countercurse that would have saved her…"

Lockhart's comments were punctuated by Filch's dry, racking sobs. He was slumped in a chair by the desk, unable to look at Mrs. Norris, his face in his hands. Harry couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for him.

Dumbledore was now muttering strange words under his breath and tapping Mrs. Norris with his wand but nothing happened: she continued to look as though she had been recently stuffed.

"I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadogou," said Lockhart, "a series of attacks, the full story's in my autobiography. I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets, which cleared the matter up at once…."

The photographs of Lockhart on the walls were all nodding in agreement as he talked. One had forgotten to remove his hair net.

At last Dumbledore straightened up.

"She's not dead, Argus," he said softly.

Lockhart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the number of murders he had prevented.

"Not dead?" choked Filch, looking though his fingers at Mrs. Norris. "But why's she all—all stiff and frozen?"

"She has been Petrified," said Dumbledore ("Ah! I thought so!" said Lockhart). "But how, I cannot say…."

"Ask _him_!" shrieked Filch, turning his blotched and tearstained face to Harry.

"No second year could have done this," said Dumbledore firmly. "Even Harry. It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced—"

"He did it, he did it!" Filch spat, his pouchy face purpling. "He wants to get back at me! Because of—because of what happened—what happened last year."

"I never _touched _Mrs. Norris!" Harry said loudly, uncomfortably aware of everyone looking at him, including all the Lockharts on the walls. "And I _know _that last year wasn't your fault."

"Rubbish!" snarled Filch. "Why else would you kill my cat?"

"I didn't—"

"If I may speak, Headmaster," Minerva said, from her spot next to Albus. "Harry and his friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time." Her lips tightened in disapproval. Though she had taken a bit of a liking to Harry, the evidence was against him, and she didn't like students to walk aimlessly around the corridors at night. "But we do have some suspicious circumstances here. Why was he in that corridor at all? No classes are going on right now, and the Slytherin dormitories are down in the dungeons, not the second floor."

Harry, Draco, and Vanella were somewhat speechless. Harry and Vanella shot each other worried looks.

"Well?" Snape asked, also waiting for this explanation.

Harry bit his lip. "We heard something—and—and we were following it."

Dumbledore stared at him with searching, twinkling eyes. "Heard something?"

"A voice, sir," said Vanella quietly. "There was a voice—it seemed to be in the walls or something—we were following it—it was saying—it was saying—"

"—that it was going to kill someone," Harry finished.

"It was saying it was going to kill someone," Snape repeated blankly.

"Well—it wasn't saying _exactly_ that, it was more of a—a nasty, threatening sort of voice, talking about ripping, and—and tearing, a-and killing," Vanella said hastily.

Dumbledore turned his searching eyes to Draco. "Did you hear this voice, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco shook his head. "Just them. I just followed."

Vanella cracked her knuckles. "I think that it may—it may have been Parseltongue, sir."

The four professors turned to her. "Why would you think that, Miss Incendie?" Dumbledore asked.

She swallowed. "Well—it was more—more hissing than—than normal talk," she said. "Right, Harry?"

He thought back, and nodded. "Sounded like Vitesse, only colder, and meaner, and more masculine."

"Vitesse? Who's Vitesse?" asked Lockhart.

Everyone ignored him.

"Parseltongue?" McGonagall asked. "I wasn't aware you two were Parselmouths."

"Vitesse is the only snake living in the castle, Harry," Dumbledore stated. "And Vitesse is not murderous."

"I know _that_," Harry said, exasperated.

"Then there is no explanation for this voice."

"Sir, it's not just me, so I'm not imagining it," Harry pleaded.

Vanella nodded. "We both heard it. We're not going crazy together."

Headmaster Dumbledore smiled sadly. "Your going crazy isn't the problem."

Vanella and Harry looked at each other.

"And we don't think you Petrified Mrs. Norris, either."

Filch snorted. "Speak for yourself! My cat has been _Petrified_! I want to see some _punishment_!"

Dumbledore looked at him harshly. "Innocent until proven guilty, Argus."

Harry and Vanella and Draco brightened considerably.

"My cat! These students Petrified my cat!"

"There is no proof of that. And we will be able to cure her, Argus," said Dumbledore patiently. "Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs. Norris."

"I'll make it," Lockhart butted in. "I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep—"

"Excuse me," said Snape icily, "but I believe I am the Potions master at this school."

There was an awkward pause.

"You may go," Dumbledore said to Harry, Draco, and Vanella.

Harry looked at all the professors in turn. "But what about the writing on the wall? The Chamber of Secrets?"

If the room's silence could have gotten more awkward, Lockhart wasn't a giant fake.

"That doesn't concern you right now, Harry. You may go."

With a frown, the three left for the Slytherin dorms.

"We have to find out about the Chamber of Secrets."

Vanella and Draco agreed.

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Author's Note: Yay! The plot thickens! I really like my portrayal of Lockhart-the-idiot; it's loads of fun…. Anyways, sorry if this was too close to the book; I'll put another chapter up in a day or two to satisfy the hunger for something more different.

I have to respond to **_Loony Lisa Lovegood:_**

Though I personally would _love_ to be in this alternate reality of J.K.R's books, I would never go so far as to actually _write_ myself into it. Vanella is loosely based on a merging of mine and a few other people's personalities, including one I made up in a different fiction story, and though, in some forms of the word, could technically be considered a "Mary Sue", she is not an image of me. I _have_ made characters that are an image of me, but not in _this_ specific story, (though they are Harry Potter), because I didn't _want_ Vanella to be accused of "Mary Sue"-dom. Hey, no one's stopping you from writing naughty little stories of Severus, I just wouldn't post them…. And don't worry, I'll never let the flamers get to me. By the way, hope you enjoyed the newest update…

As for all the opinions on Ginny… they're helpful. And even more would be even more so. I can't give any hints on how I'm dealing with the situation because I want it to be a surprise, but I do want you all to know that I'm taking your opinions to mind, and if you want to be heard you have to review….

'Til next time, peoples…


	8. The Chamber of Secrets II

Chapter 37, **The**** Chamber of Secrets II**

For a few days, the school could talk of little else but the attack on Mrs. Norris. Filch made sure no one could forget by attentively pacing the spot where she had been attacked, as though he thought the attacker might come back. Harry had seen him scrubbing the message on the wall with Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover, but his attempts were futile; the words still gleamed as brightly as ever on the stone. When Filch wasn't guarding the scene of the crime, he was skulking red-eyed through the corridors, lunging out at unsuspecting students and trying to put them in detention for things like "breathing loudly" and "looking happy". Students were getting away with less than before, even when Mrs. Norris was on duty.

Ginny Weasley, Ron's little sister, seemed very disturbed by Mrs. Norris's fate. Ron explained this by saying she was a great cat lover. A few of Ginny's friends also seemed very affected, but Ron couldn't, nor did he try, to justify their points of view.

The attack also had an effect on Hermione, who now spent almost all of her time reading. She had read a lot before, but now she did little else. She appeared to be attempting to read the entire library in the pointless hopes that she may find information about the Chamber of Secrets. Ron reported promptly that she went to bed each night a little more frustrated than the last.

Of course, _nobody_ could find information on the Chamber of Secrets, and they didn't get any answers until the following Wednesday, during History of Magic.

History of Magic was the dullest subject on their schedule. Professor Binns, who taught it, was their only ghost teacher, and the most exciting thing that ever happened in his classes was his entering the room through the blackboard. Ancient and shriveled, many people said he hadn't noticed he was dead. He had simply got up to teach one day and left his body behind him in an armchair in front of the staff room fire; his routine had not varied in the slightest since.

Today was as boring as ever. Professor Binns opened his notes and began to read in a flat drone like an old vacuum cleaner until nearly everyone n the class was in a deep stupor, occasionally coming to long enough to copy down a name or date, then falling asleep again. He had been speaking for half an hour when something happened that had never happened before in his class. Hermione put up her hand.

Professor Binns, glancing up in the middle of an incredibly dull lecture on the International Warlock Convention of 1289, looked amazed.

"Miss—er—"

"Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets," said Hermione in a clear voice.

Harry looked up from a piece of parchment he was scribbling on and Vanella gaped at Hermione. Draco merely arched an eyebrow, waiting for an answer.

Dean Thomas, who had been sitting with his mouth hanging open, gazing out of the window, jerked out of his trance; Lavender Brown's head came up off her arms and Neville Longbottom's elbow slipped off his desk. Even Ron came out of his daze.

Professor Binns blinked.

"My subject is History of Magic," he said in his dry, wheezy voice. "I deal with _facts_, Miss Granger, not myths and legends." He cleared his throat with a small noise like a chalk snapping and continued. "In September of that year, a subcommittee of Sardinian sorcerers—"

He stuttered to a halt. Hermione's hand was waving incessantly in the air again.

"Miss Grant?"

"Granger. Please, sir, don't legends always have a basis in fact?"

Professor Binns was looking at her in such amazement, Harry was sure no student had ever interrupted him before, alive or dead.

"Well," said Professor Binns slowly, "yes, one could argue that, I suppose." He peered at Hermione as though he had never seen a student properly before. He probably hadn't ever seen one like Hermione. "However, the legend of which you speak is such a very _sensational_, even _ludicrous_ tale—"

But the whole class was now hanging on Professor Binns's every word. He looked dimly at them all, each of their faces turned to his. Harry could tell he was completely thrown by such an unusual show of interest.

"Oh, very well," he said slowly, almost disbelieving of the entire situation. "Let me see… the Chamber of Secrets…

"You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago—the precise date is uncertain—by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school Houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution."

He paused, gazed blearily around the room, and continued.

"For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more _selective_ about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept between all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy, or unworthy in general. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school."

Professor Binns paused again, pursing his lips, looking like a wrinkled old tortoise.

"Reliable historical sources tell us this much," he said. "But these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing.

"Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic."

There was silence as he finished telling the story, but it wasn't the usual, sleepy silence that filled Professor Binns's classes. There was unease in the air as everyone continued to watch him, hoping for more. Professor Binns looked faintly annoyed.

"The whole thing is arrant nonsense, of course," he said. "Naturally, the school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many times, by the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible."

Hermione's hand was back in the air.

"Sir—what exactly do you mean by the 'horror within' the Chamber?"

"That is believed to be some sort of terrible monster, which the Heir of Slytherin alone can control," said Professor Binns in his dry, reedy voice.

The class exchanged nervous looks.

"I tell you, the thing does not exist," said Professor Binns, shuffling his notes. "There is no Chamber and no monster."

"But, sir," said Seamus Finnigan, "if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin's true heir, no one else would be able to find it, would they?"

"Nonsense, O'Flaherty," said Professor Binns in an aggravated tone. "If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven't found the thing—"

"But, Professor," piped up Parvati Patil, "you'd probably have to use Dark Magic to open it—"

"Just because a wizard _doesn't_ use Dark Magic doesn't mean he _can't_, Miss Pennyfeather," snapped Professor Binns. "I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore—"

"But maybe you've got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn't—" began Dean Thomas, but Professor Binns had had enough.

"That will do," he said sharply. "It is a myth! It does not exist! There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built so much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story! We will return, if you please, to _history_, to solid, believable, verifiable _fact_!"

And within five minutes, the class had sunk back into its usual torpor.

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"It says in my _Hogwarts, A History _book that Parseltongue is one of Slytherin's most prized traits. Which technically points the finger at us, Harry," stated Vanella that night. "Parseltongue is hereditary."

Harry looked up from his Transfiguration essay. "But I didn't get Parseltongue from my parents," he said, "neither of them spoke it. Dumbledore says I got it from Voldemort when he tried to kill me. That some of his power was transferred to me. Parseltongue was one of the powers, his powers."

"Which points the finger at me, Harry."

"You couldn't be Slytherin's heir, could you?"

For a moment they pondered the chances.

Finally Draco looked up from where he was etching away at a Potions essay. "My dad says it was opened fifty years ago."

Harry looked over at him. "When'd he say that?"

"In an letter. When Mrs. Norris was attacked I owled him, and I just got one back saying it was opened fifty years ago also."

"Fifty years ago… how was it opened?" Vanella asked.

Harry shook his head. "We know how. The question is, who? Because if we know who, then we know that their kid is the one doing it now."

Draco nodded. "How do we find that out? It's not like we can go around asking about who can order a monster to attack people."

Vanella thought. "We could look for clues at the scene. Who knows? Maybe there'll be a hint of some sort."

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That Saturday, they traveled up to that Hallway to have a look. Except for the lack of a hanging Mrs. Norris, and an empty chair where Filch had been keeping guard, it looked exactly as it had that night. The corridor was deserted, and "The Chamber of Secrets has been Opened" was still written in red on the wall.

Harry got down on his hands and knees and searched the floor for clues. "Scorch marks," he said. "Here—and here—"

"Look at this," said Vanella, surprise in her voice. "Never seen anything like that before…"

Harry got up and crossed to the window next to the message on the wall. Vanella was looking at the topmost pane, where about twenty spiders were scuttling, apparently fighting to get through a small crack. A long, silvery thread was dangling like a rope, as though they had all climbed it in their hurry to get outside.

"Have you ever seen spiders act like that?" Vanella wondered.

Harry shook his head, "No. Draco?"

Draco moved over and looked at them. "No, never."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows as he watched the spiders, then turned away. "What about the puddle of water that was on the floor? Where had that come from?" he asked. He walked past the empty chair to point at the floor. "It's been mopped up, but it was right about there, level with this door."

Draco reached for the brass doorknob, but quickly withdrew his hand, glaring slightly at the door.

"What's the matter?" said Harry.

"That's a girls' toilet," Draco said. "Can't go in there."

Vanella waved it aside. "That's Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. There'll be no one in there. Come on, let's have a look."

She opened the door and ushered the two boys inside. Putting a finger to her lips, she set off toward the end stall. When she reached it, she said, "Hello, Myrtle, how are you?"

Harry and Draco moved over to look. Moaning Myrtle was floating above the tank of the toilet, picking a spot on her chin.

"This is a _girls'_ bathroom," she said, eyeing Draco and Harry suspiciously. "_They're_ not girls."

"No," Vanella agreed. "They aren't. We just wanted to ask you a question."

"Ask me a question?" Myrtle said. "No one's asked me a question in years…"

"We were wondering…" Harry said hesitantly, trying to phrase the question. "We were wondering if you saw anything suspicious the Halloween night."

"Suspicious?" Myrtle asked, staring at them, thoroughly _suspicious_ by now.

Draco nodded. "A cat was attacked outside your door that night. Might you know anything? Did you see anyone?"

The ghost shook her translucent head. "I was preoccupied, you see, Peeves upset me so much at the party that I came in here and tried to _kill_ myself. Then I remembered—I remembered—that, that I'm—I'm—"

"Already dead?" Harry offered helpfully.

The ghost nodded and gave a tragic sob, rose up into the air, turned over, and dove headfirst into the toilet, splashing water all over them and vanished from sight, but, judging from the direction of her muffled sobs, she had come to rest somewhere in the U-bend.

Harry and Draco stood dumbly with their eyebrows raised, but Vanella smiled wearily. "You know, that was pretty cheerful for Myrtle… come on, let's go."

They walked out the door, closing it, blocking out Myrtle's sobs. No sooner had they closed the door than a voice yelled, "Harry!"

The three turned to see Ron's older brother, a Gryffindor prefect, Percy, coming toward them.

"What are you doing?" he asked, looking at each of them in turn. "That's a girls' bathroom."

Vanella cleared her throat. "Excuse me, but, I'm a girl, aren't I?"

Percy looked flabbergasted. "Well, yes, but that doesn't mean you can bring boys into the girls' bathroom. _And_, do you realize what this looks like?" he asked, waving his had towards the writing on the wall, which still looked as if it had just been written. "You coming back here while everyone's at dinner?"

The Slytherin second years exchanged looks. "You don't think we did it, do you, Percy?" asked Harry suspiciously. There seemed to be a lot of suspicious going on.

Percy rocked on his heels, thinking up an appropriate answer. "Well, all the evidence points to you."

Harry clenched his teeth and shoved past Percy, Vanella and Draco right behind him.

"Fifteen points from Slytherin for that!" Percy yelled out to them. "Shoving a Prefect!"

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Author's Note: If this seems familiar, that's cause it is. Most of this chapter is directly from the book. Don't sue me for plagiarism, I only used it because I cannot think of a better way to say what needed to be said in this chapter better than J. K. Rowling did. Consider it praise. Though there are quite a few things that I shifted around, or added to, or took out altogether. I still think it was a successful chapter, though….

Moving on…

Ginny's fate is still in my hands. I have a little nagging idea…. It'll be a surprise, whatever I choose.

Happy October, anyways.


	9. The Rogue Bludger

Chapter 38, **The**** Rogue Bludger**

"Scorch marks, a puddle of water, weird spider activity, and un-erasable writing?"

Harry said, "Yes, but I don't see any connections."

"And Myrtle didn't see anything, either, and she was right next to the attack."

Vanella leaned back in her chair. "The 'horror within' the Chamber must be a snake of some sort, because we could hear it, and no one else could."

"So it must be going through the walls somehow," said Harry.

"But how can it go through solid stone?" Draco asked. "Only ghosts can do that. Perhaps it's a Parseltongue ghost? Slytherin _himself_, maybe."

Vanella said, "And it Petrifies things. What type of snake, or ghost, can do that?"

Draco nodded. "Dumbledore said it would take Dark Magic of a strong wizard. Can snakes perform Dark Magic? The ghost of Slytherin _could_."

"But would it? And could it really have gone unnoticed all these years? Dumbledore, at least, would have known." Harry took out his quill. "We should talk to Hermione," he said. "I'll have Vitesse bring her a note."

"What can Hermione do?" Vanella asked.

"She can research," said Harry. "Very well, too."

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Five of them met in the library the next day. Rival houses united by second years for the common goal.

"What am I looking for?" Hermione asked, less frustrated now that the Chamber of Secrets had been mildly explained.

"Anything," Harry said. "A clue of some sort. Look for snakes, something dangerous, that can Petrify things somehow."

Vanella thought back. "Something that scares spiders."

Hermione shook her head and shrugged. "I'll look, but I can't promise anything."

Draco said, "That's alright. Just look. We need to know as much as we can."

As four of them left Hermione in the library, Ron elbowed Harry playfully. "Good job," he said, "now she'll spend even _more_ time in there."

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Harry woke early next Saturday morning and lay for a while thinking about the coming Quidditch match. It was the first game of the season, Slytherin versus Gryffindor, the most heavily anticipated game other than the final one for the Cup. Last year he had been in the Hospital Wing for the last match of the season, and Slytherin was defeated because their second string Seeker wasn't nearly as good as Harry.

The only problem he had with defeating Gryffindor was that he hated beating the friendly, _usually _funny Weasley twins, though they almost always said there were 'no hard feelings'. But the whole of Gryffindor seemed to hate him after he won, more than they usually did. Truthfully, the only Gryffindors that never seemed to hate him were the Weasleys and Hermione Granger. Though Neville Longbottom never said anything to indicate harsh feelings either. In fact, he never really said much to Harry at all. He usually hid, avoiding Harry altogether.

When it was time for the match, Flint gave the usual threatening pep talk, and they stepped out onto the field. On the other side, Gryffindor team was doing the same. Fred and George Weasley saluted Harry from across the field, then got in position for take-off.

Flint and Wood were told to shake hands, and they did, exchanging threatening stares and gripping rather harder than was necessary, Flint even going so far as to bare his teeth like a rabid, hungry animal.

"On my whistle," said Madam Hooch. "Three…two…one…" The whistle sounded.

With a roar from the crowd to speed them upward, the fourteen players rose toward the leaden sky. Harry flew higher than any of them, squinting around for the Snitch.

"All right there, Harry?" Draco called from the goalposts, keeping an eye on the Quaffle at the same time. Multitasking.

Harry had no time to reply. At that very moment, a heavy black Bludger came pelting toward him; he avoided it so narrowly that he felt it ruffle his hair as it passed.

"Close one, Harry!" said George, grinning, streaking past him to knock the Bludger at other Slytherin. Harry saw George give the Bludger a powerful whack in the direction of Adrian Pucey, but the Bludger changed directions in midair and shot straight for Harry again.

Harry dropped quickly to avoid it, and a Slytherin beater hit it hard towards the Gryffindor chaser with the Quaffle.

Once again, the Bludger swerved like a boomerang and shot at Harry's head.

Harry put on a burst of speed and zoomed toward the other end of the pitch. He could hear the Bludger whistling along behind him. What was going on? Bludgers _never_ concentrated on one player like this; it was their job to try and unseat as many people as possible….

Fred Weasley was waiting for the Bludger at the other end. Harry ducked as Fred swung at the Bludger with all his might; the Bludger was knocked off course, towards Flint.

"Gotcha!" Fred yelled happily, but he was wrong; as though it was magnetically attracted to Harry, the Bludger pelted after him once more and Harry was forced to fly off at full speed.

It had started to rain; Harry felt heavy drops fall onto his face, splattering onto his glasses. He didn't have a clue what was going on in the rest of the game until he heard Lee Jordan, who was commentating, say, "Slytherin lead, sixty points to zero—"

The Slytherins' new, superior brooms were clearly doing their jobs, and meanwhile the mad Bludger was doing all it could to knock Harry out of the air. The Slytherin beaters, the idiots called Crabbe and Goyle, were now flying so close to him on either side that Harry could see nothing at all except their fat, flailing arms and had no chance to look for the Snitch, let alone catch it.

"Someone's—tampered—with—this—Bludger—" Harry heard, dodging a bat that was swatting the Bludger away from him.

Harry tried to signal to Flint for a time out. Flint saw it and called it to Madam Hooch.

"What's going on, Harry?" he growled once the team had huddled.

Harry answered, "That Bludger's trying to kill me! Even the _Gryffindor_ beaters are protecting me from that thing!"

"It's been tampered with," growled a Slytherin beater thickly, Harry thought it was Crabbe. He never could tell the dunderheads apart, most likely because he never bothered to ask which was which. "Every time we bat it away, it comes right back."

Draco nodded, "Even I can see that from the goalposts."

"Must have been one of the Gryffindors, trying to get back at us because we've got better brooms."

Harry shook his head, "I don't think so, why would Fred and George protect me if their team is trying to kill me?"

Flint shook his head. "The Bludgers have been locked in Madam Hooch's office since our last practice, and there was nothing wrong with them then."

Madam Hooch was walking toward them, and over her shoulder the Gryffindor team was watching them.

"Listen," Harry said as she came nearer and nearer, "with our beaters flying around me all the time, the only way I'm going to catch the Snitch is if it flies up my sleeve. Go back to the rest of the team and let me deal with the rogue one."

"It'll take your head off," Draco said. "This is insane, we can't let Harry deal with that thing all by himself."

"Don't worry, and if I can't catch the Snitch because of it, just score more points before the Gryffindor seeker does."

Madam Hooch had joined them.

"Ready to resume play?" she asked Flint.

Flint looked at the determined look on Harry's face, scrutinizing him.

"All right," he said. "Leave Harry alone, he'll deal with the Bludger himself."

The rain was falling more heavily now. On Madam Hooch's whistle, Harry kicked hard into the air and heard the telltale whoosh of the Bludger behind him. Higher and higher Harry climbed; he looped and swooped, spiraled, zigzagged, and rolled. Slightly dizzy, he nevertheless kept his eyes wide open, rain was speckling his glasses and ran up his nostrils as he hung upside down, avoiding another fierce dive from the Bludger. He could hear laughter from the crowd; he knew he must look stupid, but the rogue Bludger was heavy and couldn't change direction as quickly as Harry could; he began a kind of roller-coaster ride around the edges of the stadium, squinting through the silver sheets of rain to the Gryffindor goal posts, where Adrian Pucey was trying to get past Wood—

A whistling in Harry's ear told him the Bludger had just missed him again; he turned right over and sped in the opposite direction.

"Training for the ballet, Harry?" yelled Draco jokingly as Harry was forced to do a stupid kind of twirl in midair to dodge the Bludger, as he fled, the Bludger trailing a few feet behind him; and then, looking back at Draco with a small smile, he saw it—_the Golden Snitch_. It was hovering inches above Draco's left ear—and Draco, busy keeping the goals, hadn't noticed it there.

For an agonizing moment, Harry hung in midair, too shocked at the Snitch's convenient place to move.

WHAM.

He had stayed still a second too long. The Bludger had hit him at last, smashed into his elbow, and Harry felt his arm break. Dumbly, dazed by the searing pain in his arm, he slid sideways on his rain-drenched broom, one knee still crooked over it, his right arm dangling useless at his side—the Bludger came pelting back for a second attack, this time aiming at his face—Harry swerved out of the way, one idea firmly lodged in his numb brain: _get to Draco._

Through a haze of rain and pain he dived for the shimmering, smirking face below him and saw its eyes widen in fear: Harry was coming right at him, barely in control because of his useless arm.

"What the—" he gasped, careening out of Harry's way.

Harry took his remaining hand off his broom and made a wild snatch; he felt his fingers close on the cold Snitch but was now only gripping the broom with his legs, and there was a yell from the crowd below as he headed straight for the ground, trying hard not to pass out.

With a splattering thud he hit he mud and rolled off his broom. His arm was hanging at a very strange angle, riddled with pain, he heard, as though from a distance, a good deal of whistling and shouting. He focused on the Snitch clutched in his good hand.

"Aha," he said vaguely. "We've won."

And he fainted.

He came around, rain falling on his face, still lying on the field, with someone leaning over him. He saw a glitter of teeth.

"Oh, no, not you," he moaned.

"Doesn't know what he's saying," said Lockhart loudly to the anxious crowd of Slytherins and a few Gryffindors surrounding them. "Not to worry, Harry. I'm about to fix your arm."

"_No_!" said Harry. "I'll keep it like this, thanks…."

He tried to sit up, but the pain was terrible. He heard a familiar clicking noise nearby.

"I don't want a photo of this, Colin," he said loudly.

"Lie back, Harry," said Lockhart soothingly. "It's a simple charm I've used countless times—"

"Why can't I just go to the hospital wing?" said Harry through clenched teeth.

"He should, really, Professor," said a muddy Fred Weasley, who was looking a little upset. "Nice capture, though, Harry. Really great. One of the best, I'd say."

Through the thicket of legs around him, Harry spotted George Weasley and Oliver Wood, wrestling the rogue Bludger into a box. It was still putting up a terrific fight.

"Stand back," said Lockhart, rolling up his jade-green sleeves.

"No—don't—" said Harry weakly, but Lockhart was twirling his wand, and a second later it was directed straight at Harry's arm.

A strange and unpleasant sensation started at Harry's shoulder and spread all the way down to his fingertips. It felt as though his arm was being deflated. He didn't dare look at what was happening. He had shut his eyes, his face turned away from his arm, but his worst fears were realized as the people above him gasped and Colin Creevey began clicking away madly. His arm didn't hurt anymore—nor did it feel anything remotely like an arm.

"Ah," said Lockhart. "Yes. Well, that can sometimes happen. But the point is, the bones are no longer broken. That's the thing to bear in mind. So, Harry, just toddle up to the hospital wing—ah, Miss Incendie, Mr. Malfoy, would you escort him?—and Madam Pomfrey will be able to—er—tidy you up a bit."

As Harry got to his feet, he felt strangely lopsided. Taking a deep breath, he looked down at his right side. What he saw nearly made him pass out.

Poking out of the end of his robes was what looked like a thick, flesh-colored rubber glove. He tried to move his fingers. Nothing happened.

Lockhart hadn't mended Harry's bones. He'd removed them.

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Madam Pomfrey wasn't at all pleased.

"You should have come straight to me!" she raged, holding up the sad, limp remainder of what, half an hour before, had been a working arm. "I can mend bones in a second—but growing them back—"

"You will be able to, won't you?" said Harry desperately.

"I'll be able to, certainly," she said, throwing Harry a pair of pajamas, "but it'll be painful. You'll have to spend the night…."

Vanella waited outside the curtain drawn around Harry's bed while Draco helped him into his pajamas. It took a while to stuff the rubbery, boneless arm into a sleeve.

"How can Dumbledore even keep Lockhart now? What kind of idiot removes someone's bones when trying to fix them?" Draco said.

"Maybe he meant to remove them?" Vanella called from the other side of the curtain.

"Why would he remove bones when they're so much easier to just fix?"

Harry looked down at his rubbery arm, flapping around pointlessly.

"Well, at least it doesn't hurt anymore," he said.

Draco pulled the rubbery fingers through the cuff of Harry's pajamas. "Doesn't do anything else, either," he said.

Vanella and Madam Pomfrey came around the curtain. Madam Pomfrey was holding a large bottle of something labeled _Skele-Gro_.

"You're in for a rough night," she said, pouring out a steaming beakerful and handing it to him. "Regrowing bones is a nasty business."

So was taking the Skele-Gro. It burned Harry's mouth and throat as it went down, making him cough and splutter. Still tut-tutting about dangerous sports and inept teachers, Madam Pomfrey retreated, leaving Vanella and Draco to help Harry gulp down some water.

"We won, though," said Draco, a smirk breaking across his face. "That was some catch you made. Though you speeding at me like that was a little…unnerving."

"I want to know who fixed that Bludger," said Vanella, frowning.

Harry shrugged. "That can be something we'll have to look for clues for. Unfortunately, I can't think of many enemies that would want to do that, except the Gryffindor Quidditch team, but I can't see Gryffindors playing dirty like that."

"Wonderful flying, Harry," said Draco teasingly. "The way you spin and dance and dart. You could be a performing artist."

"If I had both arms I'd throw a pillow at you, Draco."

Just then, Ron and Hermione, followed closely by Fred and George and Ginny Weasley, arrived in the room to see Harry.

"Nice flying, Harry," George said grudgingly.

The other Gryffindors agreed before Madam Pomfrey came storming over, shouting, "This boy needs rest, he's got thirty-three bones to regrow! Out! **OUT**!"

And Harry was left alone, with nothing to distract him from the stabbing pains in his limp arm.

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Author's Note: Apologies. This, also, was mostly taken from the book. I apologize profusely. If it bothers you to read such a sorry manipulation to my needs, imagine how I feel re-typing it. I hate having to use pre-written stuff, but this fits. If it's any consolation, inside the Chamber of Secrets will be incredibly different than the book, as will most of the other important stuff.

In case you haven't noticed, I'm now just waiting till the chapter hits five reviews to update. That way, I'm happy, and you _have_ to make me happy if you want the next chapter. I'm mean. But, I figure, this way I can blame the late updates on you. It just all works out. So, this chapter was late because the fifth review didn't come until earlier today.

Au revoir, amigos. Whoops. Those are two different languages, aren't they? Hmm….


	10. The Second Attack

Chapter 39, **The**** Second Attack**

Hours and hours later, Harry woke quite suddenly in the pitch-blackness and gave a small yelp of pain: His arm now felt full of large, impossibly sharp needles. For a moment, he thought that's what had woken him. Then, with another yelp, this one of horror, he realized that someone was sponging his forehead in the dark.

"Get off!" he said loudly, and then, "_Dobby_!"

The house-elf's buggy eyes were peering at Harry through the darkness. A lone tear was traveling its way down Dobby's nose.

"Harry Potter stayed at school," Dobby whispered sadly. "Dobby warned and warned Harry Potter. Ah sir, why didn't you heed Dobby? Why didn't you stay home when you were portkeyed there?"

Harry sat up quickly and pushed Dobby's sponge away. "What _are _you doing here? How do you know I was portkeyed to the Dursleys'?"

Dobby's lip trembled and Harry narrowed his eyes. "_You_! _You_ portkeyed me there! I _told_ you! _That_ is _not_ my _home_!"

Dobby shrunk himself down. "Dobby is sorry, Harry Potter. Dobby knows that Harry Potter is safer when he is at his home."

"Yes," Harry said. "Harry Potter _is_ safer when he is at home. And Harry Potter _is_ at home. So leave Harry Potter be."

"But Harry Potter does not understand! Harry Potter is not safe here! Harry Potter would be safe with his aunt and uncle!"

"Clearly," Harry growled, "Harry Potter and Dobby have different opinions on what is considered safe."

Dobby was shaking, rocking back and forth, shaking his ugly head.

"Dobby was so shocked when he heard Harry Potter was still at Hogwarts, he let his master's dinner burn! Such a flogging Dobby never had, sir…."

Harry slumped back into his pillows. "You worried my friends, you unwittingly informed the Dursleys of my existence, and you worried my professors. You better leave before my bones grow back, Dobby," he said fiercely, staring angrily at the ceiling. "Or I just might strangle you."

Dobby smiled weakly. "Dobby is used to death threats, sir. Dobby gets them five times a day at home."

He blew his nose on a corner of the filthy pillowcase he wore, looking so pathetic that Harry felt his anger ebb away in spite of himself.

"Why do you wear that thing, Dobby?" he asked.

"This, sir?" said Dobby, plucking at the pillowcase. "'Tis a mark of the house-elf's enslavement, sir. Dobby can only be freed if his masters present him with clothes, sir. The family is careful not to pass Dobby even a sock, sir, for then he would be free to leave their house forever."

Dobby mopped his bulging eyes and said suddenly, "Harry Potter _must_ go home! Dobby thought his Bludger would be enough to make—"

"_Your_ Bludger?" said Harry, anger rising once more. "What do you mean, _your _Bludger? _You_ made that Bludger try and kill me?"

"Not _kill_ you, sir, never _kill_ you!" said Dobby, shocked. "Dobby wants to save Harry Potter's life! Better sent home, grievously injured, than remain here, sir! Dobby only wanted Harry Potter hurt enough to be sent home!"

"Well, then, Dobby, I guess it's too bad that I live here, right!" said Harry angrily. "If I was _grievously_ injured, I'd just be confined to Professor Snape's quarters! Can I ask _why_ Dobby wanted me all pent up while _grievously_ injured?"

"Ah, if Harry Potter only knew!" Dobby groaned, more tears dripping onto his ragged pillowcase. "If he knew what he means to us, to the lowly, the enslaved, we dregs of the magical world! Dobby remembers how it was when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was at the height of his powers, sir! We house-elfs were treated like vermin, sir! Of course, Dobby is still treated like that, usually, sir," he admitted, drying his face on the pillowcase. "But mostly, sir, life has improved for my kind since you triumphed over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Made. Harry Potter survived, and the Dark Lord's power was broken, and it was a new dawn, sir, and Harry Potter shone like a beacon of hope for those of us who thought the Dark days would never end, sir…. And now, at Hogwarts, terrible things are to happen, are perhaps happening already, and Dobby cannot let Harry Potter stay here now that history is to repeat itself, not that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more—"

Dobby froze, horrorstruck, then grabbed Harry's water jug from his bedside table and cracked it over his own head, toppling out of sight. A second later, he crawled back onto the bed, cross-eyed, muttering, "Bad Dobby, very bad Dobby…"

"So there _definitely_ is a Chamber of Secrets?" Harry whispered. "And—it's _definitely_ been open before? _Tell_ me, Dobby!"

He seized the elf's bony wrist as Dobby's hand inched toward the water jug. "But I'm not Muggle-born—how can I be in danger from the Chamber?"

"Ah, sir, ask no more, ask no more of poor Dobby," stammered the elf, his eyes huge in the dark. "Dark deeds are planned in this place, but Harry Potter must not be here when they happen—go away, Harry Potter, go far away. Harry Potter must not meddle in thin, sir, 'tis too dangerous—"

"Who is it, Dobby? Harry said, keeping a firm hold on Dobby's wrist to stop him from hitting himself with the water jug again. "Who's opened it? Who opened it last time?"

"Dobby can't, sir! Dobby can't, Dobby mustn't tell!" squealed the elf. "Go away, Harry Potter, away!"

"I'm not going anywhere," Harry said. "One of my closest friends is Muggle-born and another is half-blood; they'll be first in line if the Chamber is opened—"

Dobby shook his head fiercely. "Harry Potter must not worry about his half-blood, she is an heir—"

Dobby suddenly froze, his bat ears quivering. Harry heard it, too. There were footsteps coming down the passageway outside.

"Dobby must go!" breath the elf, terrified.

"_NO_! What do you mean, Vanella's an—"

But the elf was gone. He slumped back into bed, watching the doorway to the hospital wing as the footsteps grew nearer.

Next moment, Dumbledore was backing into the dormitory, looking very silly wearing a long woolly dressing gown and a nightcap, yet very serious. He was carrying one end of what looked like a statue. Professor McGonagall appeared a second later, carrying its feet. Together, they heaved it onto a bed.

"Get Madam Pomfrey," whispered Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall disappeared out of Harry's sight, past the end of his bed. Harry lay still, pretending to sleep, watching and listening. He could hear urgent voices, and then Professor McGonagall swept back into view, closely followed by Madam Pomfrey, who was pulling a cardigan on over her nightdress. He heard a sharp intake of breath.

"What happened?" Madam Pomfrey whispered to Dumbledore, bending over the statue on the bed.

"Another attack," said Dumbledore. "Minerva found him on the stairs."

"He had a bunch of grapes with him," said Professor McGonagall. "We think he was trying to sneak up here to visit Potter."

Harry's stomach gave a terrible lurch. Slowly and carefully, he raised himself a few inches so he could look at the statue on the bed. A ray of moonlight lay across its staring face.

It was Colin Creevey. His eyes were wide and his hands were stuck up in front of him, holding his camera.

"Petrified?" whispered Madam Pomfrey.

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "But I shudder to think… If Albus hadn't been on the way downstairs for hot chocolate—who knows what might have—"

The three of them stared down at Colin. Then Dumbledore leaned down and wrenched the camera out of Colin's rigid grip.

"You don't think he managed to get a picture of his attacker?" said Professor McGonagall eagerly.

Dumbledore didn't answer. He opened the back of the camera.

"Good gracious!" said Madam Pomfrey.

A jet of steam had hissed out of the camera. Harry, three beds away, caught the acrid smell of burnt plastic.

"Melted," said Madam Pomfrey. "All melted…"

"What does this _mean_, Albus?" Professor McGonagall asked urgently.

"It mean," said Dumbledore, "that the Chamber of Secrets is open again."

Madam Pomfrey clapped a hand to her mouth. Professor McGonagall stared at Dumbledore.

"But, Albus…surely…._Who_?"

"The question is not _who_," said Dumbledore, his eyes on Colin. "The question is, _how_…"

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The next day Harry's bones were regrown and he was released from the hospital wing. He went back to the Slytherin dormitories, thoroughly confused and planning on telling Vanella and Draco about Dobby and the attack on Colin Creevey.

They were in the common room, writing a Potions essay at the back table. Harry slid into the empty seat he always sat in and looked at them in turn.

They looked up. "Hello, Harry, feeling better?" Vanella asked with a small smile.

Harry flexed the fingers on his right arm and set his arms on the table. "You'd never guess what happened last night."

Draco put a finger to his lips and mock-thought. "Hmm…. I do believe your bones grew back."

Harry waved it away. "That's not what I meant."

Vanella set her quill down. "Okay. _Do_ tell, Harry."

They all leaned in for privacy, even though there were few other people in the room. "I didn't tell you, but during the summer a house elf came and warned me about staying here, saying it was dangerous, and that I should go home. I didn't think much of it, since stranger things have happened. I figured it was just a crazy house-elf from the kitchens." Harry shook his head. "But he came again last night, and he said that his family treated him badly, so I thought it couldn't possibly be one of Dumbledore's elves. He said he was the one that portkeyed me back to the Dursleys' and jinxed the Bludger yesterday." Harry paused, taking a breath. "He told me that the Chamber of Secrets is open again, and that I'm in danger."

Vanella frowned. "How are you in danger? _You_'re not a Muggle-born, _or_ a half-blood."

Harry nodded. "That's what I asked him. He said he could say no more, but that I must leave Hogwarts. I told him that I wasn't leaving, because one of my closest friends is a Muggle-born, and another is a half-blood. You're grandfather on—uh—you're father's side was a Muggle, wasn't he?" 

Vanella nodded slightly. "What did he say?" she said slowly.

"He said not to worry about my half-blood. He said 'she is an heir'."

Vanella whispered, "I'm an heir? Might you have heard him wrong?"

Harry shook his head. "I know what I heard."

Draco swallowed. "It would make sense. Fifty years ago, your father must have opened the chamber." Suddenly he looked at her. "Who was your father? I never heard anything about an Incendie in Hogwarts."

Vanella shook her head. "My father wasn't an Incendie," she said.

"He wasn't," Draco said slowly.

She shook her head again. "My father was—my father is—Voldemort."

Draco's eyes widened. "Voldemort had a child?"

"Not intentionally."

Draco continued to stare at her. "Voldemort's the heir of Slytherin…"

Harry nodded. "That would explain the Parseltongue." He added, "For both of us. I can't believe we hadn't thought of that."

Vanella bit her lip. "Dumbledore knows I'm his daughter. If he knows also that Voldemort was the heir of Slytherin, then he'll think I opened it."

"I haven't told you the whole story yet," Harry whispered as a couple happily chattering Slytherin first years walked by.

They looked at him. "There's also been another attack. This time on a _person_. Colin Creevey's been Petrified."

Vanella whispered, "What if they suspect me?"

Harry shook his head. "They couldn't—"

Snape suddenly burst through the common room door. "Vanella Incendie," he said loudly, announcing. "You're wanted by the Headmaster."

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Author's Notes: Dun, dun, dun. I'm just having too much fun…. Anyways, this was a quick one because I got six reviews overnight. Thanks much!

Okay, I have to answer "Darak":

Harry did not use his wandless magic against Lockhart (that is the bumbling git, right?) because he was in a fragile mental state and probably didn't think of it. Remember, he was drifting in and out of consciousness. Sorry it bothered you, though.

'Til next time….


	11. Dumbledore's Office II

Chapter 40, **Dumbledore's Office II**

Vanella walked silently behind Snape, trembling slightly. When they were halfway there, she said, "Professor?"

He looked to her for a millisecond, signaling to continue.

"Surely he doesn't think I've opened it?"

He threw her a hard glance. "Have you given him reason to believe that you have, Miss Incendie?"

She didn't answer, just walked, terrified.

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Back in the common room, Harry and Draco were sitting in a stunned silence.

Finally Draco said, "Did you get the name of that house-elf? The Weasley twins know the way to the kitchens, we could ask them the way. Maybe send Hermione to ask the elves in there about him. See if he was just leading you to think he was from somewhere else. And give her some air out of the library for a bit."

Harry nodded. "His name is Dobby."

Draco's eyes widened.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Dobby is my family's elf," said Draco.

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Vanella walked slowly into Dumbledore's office, where the old man was sitting, reading papers on his desk, an uncharacteristic frown on his face. Snape waved Vanella over to a seat across from the Headmaster and slunk into the shadows.

"Hello, Miss Incendie," said Albus.

She nodded to him with a nervous smile.

"Do you know why I've called you here?" he asked, meeting her eyes.

She bit her lip. "I have a few ideas," she said slowly.

The old man nodded and leaned back. "As I believe you know," he started, "Parseltongue is one of Salazar Slytherin's most _prized_ traits."

She nodded.

"And you are the only person in this school with the hereditary Parseltongue genes."

She nodded again.

"Which, were people to know, would make you a prime suspect if the Chamber of Secrets was to be opened," he said carefully.

"And, since the Chamber of Secrets has been opened, you suspect that I, the heir of Voldemort and Salazar Slytherin, have done it." Very forward.

Dumbledore stared at her. "I wasn't quite saying _that_, Miss Incendie, but yes, that's close to the truth."

"I didn't do it, if that's what you want to know. I just found out this morning that I was the heir of Slytherin, when Harry told me that the house-elf had told him—"

"House-elf?" Dumbledore asked. "One of mine?"

Vanella shook her head, "No, sir. Harry says it was not one of yours, at least he doesn't think it was, but one that has been warning him of danger at Hogwarts since before school even started."

"A house-elf from outside the school? Did it tell Harry what kind of danger?"

She shook her head again. "We were discussing it when you summoned me, sir."

"You and Harry?"

"And Draco, sir."

Dumbledore turned to Snape. "Retrieve them for me, Severus, please."

Snape nodded expressionlessly and disappeared through the door of the office.

Vanella and Dumbledore sat in awkward silence until Snape came back minutes later, tailed closely by Draco and Harry, both with weird looks on their faces.

Dumbledore nodded to Harry, who conjured two chairs for the boys.

"Tell me about this house-elf, Harry," Dumbledore said once Snape had retreated back to his corner.

Harry told him about Dobby's first few visits and the last one in the hospital wing. He began to explain the conversation and how they were talking about Vanella being the heir when Professor Snape brought Vanella away. Then he turned to Draco for the final point of the story.

"Dobby," he said, "is the name of the house-elf. He belongs to my family."

Dumbledore looked at him. "_Your_ house-elf is warning Harry about the Chamber of Secrets, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco swallowed and nodded. "I swear I had nothing to do with it, sir. I know my father is very anti-Muggle-born, but I don't really have a problem with them. I mean, Vanella's half-blood and Hermione Granger's Muggle-born—"

"I'm not suggesting you've done it, Draco, there's no way you could have. You're not the heir of Slytherin." He turned to Vanella. "_You_, however, are."

Professor Snape was a bit startled in his corner. He had suspected because of the earlier exchanged words… but to have it lain out so forwardly… it was just…startling.

Vanella seemed to shrink in her seat. "Sir, I didn't do it. I don't know _how_. I swear. You can give me Veritaserum if you want, but I swear to Merlin it wasn't me."

"I know that, Miss Incendie. I believe you. But—"

Then Harry heard it, and he could tell that Vanella did too. Murderous and cold, evil and threatening. Positively bone-chilling.

"_…rip…tear…kill…must feed…must kill…soo hungry…_"

"Shh!" Harry said to the Headmaster.

Albus was not used to this reaction to his talking. He looked positively aghast. "Harry, I—"

"Please, sir, a moment!" Harry said desperately.

The voice was growing fainter, moving into the corridor. "_…kill…feed…rip…time to_ _kill…_"

Harry and Vanella exchanged frightened glances. They turned to Dumbledore. "It's happening again, please, sir, we have to stop it," Harry said.

And they ran out the door, Dumbledore, Snape, and Draco following, all three very confused.

The voice was going down. "_…feed…tear…rip…soo hungry…must…KILL!!!…_"

Harry and Vanella darted down the stairs, following the sound, completely unaware of the people following them anymore.

"_…FEED…KILL…HUNGRY…BLOOD!!!…_"

They reached the first floor, and stopped with the voice.

"I'm the heir," Vanella whispered harshly. "The heir can control it?"

Harry nodded slowly as the voice said, "_…blood…must feed…must kill…ssoo_ _HUNGRY!!!…_"

"_SSTOP_!" hissed Vanella suddenly. "_Go back—go back into the Chamber_," she said.

The voice paused from its continual rant about killing. There was an awkward pause, in which it seemed confused. "_But…_," it said, "_but I must KILL! Sssooo hungry…._"

Vanella had a pained look in her eyes. She shook her head, and the voice moved away, going back up.

"_I SMELL BLOOD!_" it said on its way up.

They ran back up the stairs to the second floor, and came face to face with Dean Thomas. Petrified.

Vanella fainted, falling back into Draco, who caught her, surprised.

Dean was looking, a surprise evident on his face, at the cover of a shiny, reflective, brand new copy of _Hogwarts, A History_.

Dumbledore and Snape went right into action, taking advantage of the empty corridors, lifting Dean and heading towards the hospital wing. Harry cast an invisibility charm on them, worried about other students coming, then headed for the hospital wing behind them, levitating Vanella.

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"You know what happened last time, Albus!" Minerva was saying. "What if they try to close the school?"

Dumbledore waved it away. "They will not close the school. We will find whoever's doing this and put a stop to it."

"How do we know the Incendie girl's not doing it?" Professor McGonagall asked. "She's the heir!"

"She's not doing it!" Harry said angrily. "_You_ couldn't hear here protesting to that snake-thing. _I_ could!"

Dumbledore shook his head. "She's not," he said.

"How do you know?" asked McGonagall.

"Legilimency," said the Headmaster. "We were staring at each other, and I checked. She told us the whole truth."

Draco was shifting nervously in his seat in the Headmaster's office. "Is it my father? Has my father done something?"

Dumbledore looked at him. "We do not know. He is not the heir, but I suppose he may be playing a part in this…"

"What are we to do, Headmaster? How can we stop something we don't know how to control?"

Dumbledore turned to Snape. "Vanella Incendie can control it. She is an heir."

Harry shook his head. "No, Professor. It's listening to someone else. You should have heard it. It was confused when she spoke to it, and it didn't listen."

McGonagall hovered next to Dumbledore, lips thin. "There are only two Parselmouths in this school. How possibly could it be controlled by someone else, if the only one other than the heir that can speak to it is you, Mr. Potter?"

"It's not me, Professor, I swear to it. And it's not Vanella, Professor Dumbledore already said that."

"I don't understand it, Albus," Snape said wearily. "Vanella's the heir. If she's not doing it, who is?"

"Her father."

"Her father? How can her father possibly be doing this, when he isn't anywhere near here?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I do not know. That is what we must find out."

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**Author's Note**: Very short, I know, but also very important. Was everyone paying attention? He he he. The plot just gets thicker and thicker and thicker…

Now you all realize that I will wait for that fifth review, no matter how long. I have been working on a different story lately, since I'm so ahead of you all on this one, and that one has been consuming my time.

You should all be grateful to _merlin's beard 89_ who delivered that fifth review to me. I couldn't get the chapter up immediately because FFN is being weird, but I'm over it.

Because of the wait, because I'm feeling generous, and because this was a short chapter, I'm going to post the next one too. Be happy.

I want to request that you read a sixth year fic that I'm co-writing with my friend. The first 3 chapters are posted, and we have the plot so thickly involved and planned out, it'll go on for several sequels. It's really quite good, what we have. http:www .fanfiction. net/s/2150159/1/ It's there, if you delete the spaces.

Anyways, I need sleep. Cheers.

S.A.M.


	12. The Dueling Club

Chapter 41, **The**** Dueling Club**

In the third week of December a notice went up in all the common rooms about the Dueling Club. It was the talk of the school, everyone looking forward to it as much as to the Halloween feast. Nobody knew who was running it, but they were all excited nonetheless. And they were happy to be getting some _real_ defense done, because Lockhart was _obviously_ incompetent, and "Slytherin's monster" was on the loose.

"I can't believe they're starting a Dueling Club," Harry heard Millicent Bulstrode say to Pansy Parkinson the morning of the first meeting, "do they think the monster in the Chamber of Secrets can duel?"

Harry, Draco, and Vanella (who had recovered from her fainting spell weeks ago) were all for learning to duel, though Harry knew quite a bit already, still having his Sunday night practices with the Professors (most of them).

So they all headed down to the Great Hall at eight o'clock on the night of the meeting, soon joined by Ron and Hermione on the way. The long dining tables were missing and a golden stage had been placed along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. The ceiling was velvety black once more and most of the school seemed to be packed beneath it, all carrying their wands and looking excited.

"I wonder who'll be teaching us?" said Hermione as they edged their way into the chattering crowd. "Someone told me Flitwick was a dueling champion when he was young—maybe it'll be him."

"As long as it's not—" Harry began, but he ended on a groan: Gilderoy Lockhart was walking onto the stage, magnificent in robes of deep plum and accompanied by Snape, wearing his usual black and a scowl that could beat all scowls.

Lockhart waved an arm for silence and called, "Gather, round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!

"Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions—for full details, see my published works.

"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," said Lockhart, flashing a wide smile. "He tells me he know a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry—you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!"

Vanella leaned over to Harry. "Would it be too much to ask for Snape to murder him on the spot?" she asked, while Harry restrained laughter.

Snape's upper lip was curling. Harry wondered why Lockhart was still smiling; if Snape had been looking at _him_ like that he'd have been running as fast as he could in the opposite direction.

Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them.

"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart told the silent crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."

"I wouldn't bet on that," Harry murmured, watching Snape baring his teeth. "Wow, am I glad he's on my side."

"One—two—three—"

Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent; Snape cried: "**_Expelliarmus_**!" There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet: He flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.

Harry, Vanella, Draco, Ron, and some of the other Slytherins cheered. Hermione was dancing on tiptoes. "Do you think he's all right?" she squealed through her fingers.

Harry looked at the sprawled Lockhart. "Who cares?" he asked.

Lockhart was getting unsteadily to his feet. His hat had fallen off and his wavy hair was standing on end.

"Well, there you have it!" he said, tottering back onto the platform. "That was a Disarming Charm—as you see, I've lost my wand—ah, thank you, Miss Brown—yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy—however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see…"

Snape was looking murderous, to the delight of the Slytherins. Possibly Lockhart had noticed, because he said, "Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me—"

They moved through the crowd, matching up partners. Lockhart teamed up Neville with Justin Finch-Fletchley, but Snape went to Harry, Draco, Ron, Hermione and Vanella first.

"Weasley and Granger, you can partner; Draco and Vanella, you can partner; Harry, come with me." He turned and Harry followed him, shooting confused looks back to his friends, who were now facing each other.

By now, Lockhart finished matching people up and was getting back onto the stage, prepared to announce. Snape climbed up onto it also, Harry right behind him.

Lockhart looked at him strangely. "May I ask what you are doing, Professor Snape?" he asked.

"I believe," Snape said, smirking evilly, "that Mr. Potter is a little advanced for his age group, and should be challenged by an experienced Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor."

Lockhart's usual 150-watt smile went down a few notches and he paled a little. "I'm sure a second year will be fine practicing with his schoolmates."

Snape tsk-tsked. "Come on, now, Gilderoy," he said, feigning friendliness. "What's a second year to everything you've faced in your books? Don't tell me you're afraid to face a student!"

Lockhart looked out at the gathered crowd, who had now turned from their partners to watch the scenario play out on the stage. Lockhart swallowed hard and turned to Snape and Harry. "All right," he said. "I'll duel Harry for _demonstration_."

Harry smirked, very Slytherin, and Snape left the stage, allowing Lockhart and Harry to go through the bowing and raising of wands. Harry, though, didn't have nor need his wand, so he raised his hand and pointed a finger at Lockhart.

By now most of the school was used to Harry's usual lack of wand, but the ones that didn't were laughing, and a few "_What's he think he's going to do without a wand?"s_ were going around.

Snape was standing next to the edge of the stage, commentating. "Lockhart's made the first move by casting a '_stupefy_' at Harry, which, as you all should know, stuns your opponent. And Mr. Potter has easily blocked it and thrown '_petrificus__ totalus_'. Yes, good spell, it petrifies the opponent, but is easily lifted with a counter spell…."

Lockhart managed to block the spell, and next he threw '_tarantallegra_' at Harry.

"…and now Lockhart's thrown the Dancing Charm, and—oh, it's blocked by Potter. Oh, yes, the Tickling Charm! And it's hit!…"

Harry had thrown '_rictusempra_' at Lockhart, who hadn't the chance to block it. Now Lockhart was doubled over, laughing and writhing, gasping for breath.

"…hmm…and it appears Mr. Potter is enjoying this….Oh, now he's gone and lifted the curse, _tsk_, _tsk_, that's not how we duel! You're supposed to take advantage of that weakness…"

Lockhart tried to '_stupefy_' Harry afterwards, to no avail. Harry threw it aside and lifted his arm, yelling, "**_Serpensortia_**!"

A long black snake shot out of Harry's finger (a considerably strange sight to see), landing on the floor in front of a freshly terrified Lockhart.

The snake reared back and looked up at Lockhart, baring its fangs. Lockhart brandished his wand at the snake and it flew ten feet into the air, coming back down with a loud smack, facing the students.

Suddenly it hissed at Justin Finch-Fletchley, baring its fangs, furious.

Harry shook his head and edged closer to the snake, coming up behind it. "_Not him!_" he hissed, "_HIM!_"

The snake stopped and turned to Harry, who was pointing at a very shocked Lockhart. The snake followed Harry's finger to Lockhart, moving away from Justin Finch-Fletchley.

"_Don't attack the students, good boy,_" said Harry.

The snake turned to Harry, then back to Lockhart, and hissed.

Lockhart stumbled backwards in fear.

"…and now Lockhart's in trouble…." Snape sighed, clearly reluctant to do the necessary. "I'll get rid of it, Gilderoy."

Snape waved his wand and the snake vanished.

The school was gaping openly at Harry. Not everyday does one see a schoolmate hissing at a snake.

A few whispers of "the heir of Slytherin!" were going around, accompanied by "Parselmouth!" and "Parseltongue!".

Lockhart was recovering from his humiliation, brushing off his robes and slipping his wand into them. "Alright. That's really enough for demonstration. Get back with your partners and bow. Yes, good, now, we're going to practice _disarming only_ using '_expelliarmus_'."

Snape leaned in to whisper in Harry's ear. "You might want to leave now. Revealing your Parseltongue was probably not the smartest idea in light of all that has happened. I suggest you retreat to your dormitory."

Harry looked at his friends, who had begun to practice '_expelliarmus_' on each other, and left for his dormitory.

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The next day Herbology was cancelled due to snow, and Professor Sprout wanted to put socks and scarves on the Mandrakes, now that they're so important to the revival of two students and a cat.

Vanella, Draco, and Harry were sitting in the Slytherin common room, lazing. Draco and Vanella were playing wizard's chess, while Harry watched with mild interest.

Finally, as Draco put Vanella in checkmate for the second time, Harry said, "I'm going to the library. I want to see how Hermione's research is going."

Vanella scowled as the board reset itself and they began another game. "I think she found the book she needs in the resource section of a Care of Magical Creatures book, but it's in the restricted section. She left her notes with Madam Pince, if you want to ask for them. She doesn't have a free period right now, remember."

Harry nodded, "I want to see the notes… but she left them with a professor?"

Draco snorted. "Haven't you ever heard of confidentiality spells? It's easy to make one person see something and someone else see something completely different…"

Harry raised an eyebrow and shrugged, turning away from their game, and headed towards the library. Harry retrieved the notes from Madam Pince (thankfully Hermione had told her that a specific few could see them) and began looking for some of the books on the list.

He was looking for an invisible creature in the Invisibility section when he noticed a group of the Hufflepuffs from his Herbology class sitting at the back of the library, heads close together, having what appeared to be a very absorbing conversation.

He paused, listening, then turned himself invisible and walked closer to hear better when he heard his name come up.

"So anyway," a stout boy was saying, "I told Justin to hide up in our dormitory. I mean to say, if Potter's marked him down as his next victim, it's best if he keeps a low profile for a while. Of course, Justin's been waiting for something like this since he let it slip to Potter that he was Muggle-born when they were partnered for Herbology. That's not the kind of thing you should declare when Slytherin's heir is on the loose, is it?"

"You definitely think it _is _Potter, then, Ernie?" said a girl with blonde pigtails anxiously.

"Hannah," said the stout boy solemnly, "he's a Parselmouth. Everyone knows that's the mark of a Dark wizard. Have you ever heard of a decent one who could talk to snakes? They called Slytherin himself Serpent-tongue."

There was some heavy murmuring at this, and Ernie went on, "Remember what was written on the wall? _Enemies of the Heir, Beware_. Potter had a run-in with Filch last year. Next thing we know, Filch's cat is attacked, which, to Filch, is almost worse than death it self. That first year, Creevey, was annoying Potter at the Quidditch match, taking pictures of him while he was lying in the mud. Next thing we know—Creevey's been attacked."

"But what did Dean Thomas do? Potter's never had any sort of disagreement with him, other than the usual Gryffindor/Slytherin rivalry, but Potter never really had that anyway. I mean, Potter's friends with a Muggle-born Gryffindor and a half-blood. He always seemed so nice," said Hannah uncertainly. "And, well, he's the one that made You-Know-Who disappear. He can't be all bad, can he?"

"Maybe Potter was angry about something when Thomas was attacked. After all, he was in the Headmaster's office moments before it happened." Ernie lowered his voice mysteriously, the Hufflepuffs bent closer, and Harry edged nearer so that he could catch Ernie's words.

"No one knows how he survived that attack by You-Know-Who. I mean to say, he was only a baby when it happened. He should have been blasted to smithereens. Only a really powerful Dark wizard could have survived a curse like that." He dropped his voice until it was barely more than a whisper, and said, "_That's_ probably why You-Know-Who wanted to kill him in the first place. Didn't want another Dark Lord _competing_ with him. I wonder what other powers Potter's been hiding?"

Harry made himself visible and cleared his throat loudly. "The power to become invisible, for one," he said angrily. If he hadn't been so angry, he would have found the sight that greeted him funny: every one of the Hufflepuffs looked as though they had been Petrified by the sight of him, and the color was draining out of Ernie's face.

"Hello," Harry said. "So, how's Justin? Can I talk to him?"

The Hufflepuffs' worst fears had clearly been confirmed. They all looked fearfully at Ernie.

"What do you want with him?" said Ernie in a quavering voice.

"I want to know if he's alright. And to inform him that I meant him no harm yesterday, nor do I mean him harm any day, and what I told the snake." Harry raised an eyebrow. "And that I'm _not_ the heir of Slytherin, no matter what you think."

Ernie bit his white lips, and then, taking a deep breath, said, "We were all there last night. We saw what happened."

"Then you noticed that after I spoke to it, it turned back to Lockhart? And that I was pointing at _Lockhart_, not Justin?"

"All I saw," Ernie said stubbornly, though he was trembling as he spoke, "Was you speaking Parseltongue and chasing the snake towards Justin."

"I didn't chase it at him!" Harry said, his voice shaking with anger. "It didn't even _touch_ him!"

"It was a very near miss," said Ernie. "And in case you're getting ideas," he added hastily, "I might tell you that you can trace my family back through nine generations of witches and warlocks and my blood's as pure as anyone's, so—"

"I don't care what sort of blood you've got!" said Harry fiercely. "Why would I want to attack Muggle-borns?"

"I've heard you hate those Muggles you lived with," said Ernie swiftly.

Harry swallowed hard and took a shaky breath, trying to keep tabs on his anger. "It would be impossible," he said, breathing heavily, anger flashing in his currently-glowing green eyes, "to live with the Dursleys and not hate them," said Harry. "I'd like to see you try it."

He turned on his heel and stormed out of the library, setting Hermione's notes back on Madam Pince's desk a little harder than he meant to as he walked by, earning himself a reproving glare from the librarian.

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Author's Note: Sooo… how am I doing so far? Is everyone still interested? Are my differences and twists and turns still interesting, or is it too close to the book to be worthwhile? Review, readers!

Sorry this was late… and happy holidays to everyone! Even though they're over now… well, mostly… this is my Happy-New-Year-gift to all of you!

Cheers,

S.A.M.  



	13. Attack Number Four

Chapter 42, **Attack Number Four (& Five?)**

Harry blundered up the corridor, barely noticing where he was going, he was in such a fury. The result was that he walked into something very large and solid, with knocked him backward onto the floor.

"Oh, hello, Hagrid," Harry said, looking up.

Hagrid's face was entirely hidden by a woolly, snow-covered balaclava, but it couldn't possibly be anyone else, as he filled most of the corridor in his moleskin overcoat. A dead rooster was hanging from one of his massive, gloved hands.

"All righ', Harry?" he said, pulling up the balaclava so he could speak. "Why aren't ye in class?"

"Cancelled," said Harry, getting up. "What're you doing in here?"

Hagrid held up the limp rooster.

"Second one killed this term," he explained. "It's either foxes or a Blood-Suckin' Bugbear, an' I need the Headmaster's permission ter put a charm around the hen coop."

He peered more closely at Harry from under his thick, snow-flecked eyebrows.

"Yeh sure yeh're all righ'? Yeh look all hot an' bothered—"

Harry couldn't bring himself to repeat what Ernie and the other Hufflepuffs had been saying about him.

"It's nothing," he said. "I'd better be going, Hagrid, I want to pick up my Defense Against the Dark Arts books before lunch."

He walked off, his mind still full of what Ernie had said about him.

"Justin's been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter he was Muggle-born…"

Harry stamped up the stairs and turned along another corridor, which was particularly dark; the torches had been extinguished by a strong, icy draft that was blowing through a loose windowpane. He was halfway down the passage when he tripped headlong over something lying on the floor.

He turned to squint at what he'd fallen over and felt as though his stomach had dissolved.

Justin Finch-Fletchley was lying on the floor, rigid and cold, a look of shock frozen on his face, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. And that wasn't all. Next to him was another figure, one of the strangest sights Harry had ever seen.

It was Nearly Headless Nick, no longer pearly-white and transparent, but black and smoky, floating immobile and horizontal, six inches off the floor. His head was half off and his face wore an expression of shock identical to Justin's.

Harry got to his feet his breathing fast and shallow, his heart doing a kind of drumroll against his ribs. He looked wildly up and down the deserted corridor and saw a line of spiders scuttling as fast as they could away from the bodies. The only sounds were the muffled voices of teachers from the classes on either side.

He could run, and no one would ever know he had been there. But he couldn't just leave them lying there…. He had to get help…. Would anyone believe he hadn't had anything to do with this?

As he stood there, panicking, a door right next to him opened with a bang. Peeves the Poltergeist came shooting out.

"Why, it's potty wee Potter!" cackled Peeves, knocking Harry's glasses askew as he bounced past him. "What's Potter up to? Why's Potter lurking—"

Peeves stopped, halfway through a midair somersault. Upside down, he spotted Justin and Nearly Headless Nick. He flipped the right way up, filled his lungs and, before Harry could stop him, screamed, "**ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK!"**

Crash—crash—crash—door after door flew open along the corridor and people flooded out. For several long minutes, there was a scene of such confusion that Justin was in danger of being squashed and people kept standing in Nearly Headless Nick. Harry found himself pinned against the wall as the teachers shouted for quiet. Professor McGonagall came running, followed by her own class, one of whom still had black-and-white-striped hair. She used her wand to set off a loud bang, which restored silence, and ordered everyone back into their classes. No sooner had the scene cleared somewhat than Ernie the Hufflepuff arrived, panting, on the scene.

"Caught in the act!" Ernie yelled, his face stark white, pointing his finger dramatically at Harry.

"That will do, Macmillan!" said Professor McGonagall sharply.

Peeves was bobbing overhead, now grinning wickedly, surveying the scene; Peeves always loved chaos. As the teachers bent over Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, examining them, Peeves broke into song:

"Oh, Potter, you rotter, oh what have you done,

You're killing off students, you think it's good fun—"

"That's enough Peeves!" barked Professor McGonagall, and Peeves zoomed away backward, with his tongue out at Harry.

Justin was carried up to the hospital wing by Professor Flitwick and Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department, but nobody seemed to know what to do for Nearly Headless Nick. In the end, Professor McGonagall conjured a large fan out of the air, which she gave to Ernie with instructions to waft Nearly Headless Nick up the stairs. This Ernie did, fanning Nick along like a silent black hovercraft. This left Harry and Professor McGonagall.

"Perhaps you should speak to Headmaster Dumbledore," she said.

Harry shook his head angrily. "We've talked already. He knows I've done nothing, and the school thinks I'm Slytherin's heir."

And Harry walked back to the dormitories.

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The double attack on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick turned what had hitherto been nervousness into real panic. Curiously, it was Nearly Headless Nick's fate that seemed to worry people most. What could possibly do that to a ghost? people asked each other; what terrible power could harm someone who was already dead? There was almost a stampede to book seats on the Hogwarts Express so that the students could go home for Christmas.

"At this rate, we'll be the only ones left," Draco said to Harry and Vanella. "Us, Ron, and Hermione, and the rest of the Weasleys."

Harry was glad that most people were leaving. He was tired of people skirting around him in the corridors, as though he was about to sprout fangs or spit poison; tired of all the muttering, pointing, and hissing as he passed.

Fred and George, however, found all this very funny. They went out of their way to march ahead of Harry down the corridors, shouting, "Make way for the Heir of Slytherin, seriously evil wizard coming through…."

Percy Weasley was deeply disapproving of this behavior.

"It is not a laughing matter," he said coldly.

"Oh, get out of the way, Percy," said Fred. "Harry's in a hurry."

"Yea, he's off to the Chamber of Secrets for a cup of tea with his fanged servant," said George, chortling.

Ginny didn't find it amusing either. Nor did her most recently acquired friend, a Slytherin first year girl.

"Oh, don't," Ginny wailed every time Fred asked Harry loudly who he was planning to attack next, or when George pretended to ward Harry off with a large clove of garlic when they met. The Slytherin girl stood silently next to her usually, looking nervous and mildly frightened.

Harry didn't mind; it made him feel better that Fred and George, at least, thought the idea of his being Slytherin's heir was quite ludicrous. But their antics seemed to be aggravating Gilderoy Lockhart, who appeared to resent Harry for not only humiliating him, but for taking the attention off him also.

Finally the term ended, and a silence deep as the snow on the grounds descended on the castle. Harry found it peaceful, rather than gloomy, and enjoyed the fact that he, Draco, and Vanella were ruling the Slytherin Dungeons.

Ron and Hermione had taken to joining them at the Slytherin table during meals, just because there were no other Gryffindors besides the other Weasleys, and the twins felt the need to make up for the lack of noise in the Hall.

Hermione told them positively the first day of the holidays that she had heard of a book with Dark creatures, including snakes, but that it was in the Restricted Section.

Eventually Christmas morning dawned, cold and white and peaceful, bringing with it presents and good cheer. Draco, Vanella, and Harry met in the common room to open presents. (Harry got a new broomstick from Draco, a defensive magic book from Vanella, a book about Quidditch from Ron, a book on animagus from Hermione, and dark green and black dress robes from Snape.)

The Gryffindors and the Slytherins met in the Great Hall, exchanging Merry Christmas's and nodding to the Professors.

Hermione took a piece of paper out of her bag. "This," she said, leaning closer so they couldn't be overheard, "is a permission slip for the book I need. We need to get one of the Professors to sign it, so I can look for this snake-creature in the Chamber."

Draco took it from her. "What Professor is going to be stupid enough not to realize what we're up to when we ask to take out Creatures of the Dark, Volume 3: Snakes and Lizards?"

Harry looked up at the head table, where a feminine-looking man was eating cheerfully while wearing very absurd violet robes. "Lockhart," he said.

Ron looked up as well. "He's too much of an idiot to pay attention to the book, anyway. It would work."

Vanella grinned. "Act like you're obsessed with him. In other words, like usual."

Hermione scowled at Vanella. "Well—"

"Girls," Harry warned, "be nice." He sounded very much like a father.

They glared at him.

Ron, wisely, decided to change the subject. "Harry," he said, "do you have practice tonight?"

Harry shook his head. "I was thinking about going for a fly later, if anyone wants to ride," he said.

"You've never let us ride before," said Vanella.

Harry shrugged. "It's Christmas. I'm in the spirit."

Vanella snorted into her plate of eggs. "The spirit. Yes, most definitely."

Harry shot her a glare. She restrained laughter.

Draco cleared his throat, getting the others' attention. "When school starts up again, we'll have Hermione ask Lockhart after class. That way it'll seem more natural."

"Natural?" asked Ron. "How can asking Lockhart for anything be natural?"

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Next term started far too early. On the first Friday, Hermione confronted Lockhart after Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"Sir?" she asked, once everyone else had gone, Harry, Vanella, Draco, and Ron waiting outside the door.

Professor Lockhart looked up. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

She took out the permission slip. "I'd like to get this book from the library," she said, "but it's in the Restricted Section. I think that it would help me understand that part in Voyages with Vampires, and—"

Lockhart raised his hand, palm to her. "Say no more," he said, taking the slip from her, signing it, and handing it back. "I love to encourage young people in their studies."

She smiled and rushed out the door, to four grinning faces. She looked down at the signature. She gave an uncharacteristic grin and waved the paper around as they walked down the stairs. "I got it!" she said.

This was followed up by praise all around.

They reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped into the corridor of the first attack. Harry stepped onto the landing and felt a splash against his leg. He looked down.

"Water," he stated.

The other four looked at him incredulously. "Way to state the obvious, Harry," Vanella said pulling up her robes to keep them out of the clear liquid.

She looked over at the door the last puddle of water in this corridor had come from. "Myrtle's flooded it again."

Hermione went over and opened the door. "Come on," she said, "let's see what's wrong."

They waded into the bathroom, ears full of loud, wracking sobs.

"Myrtle?" Harry called.

"Who's that?" The crying ghost appeared out of her stall. "Come to throw something else at me?" she cried miserably, covering her face with her hands.

"Why would we throw something at you?" Draco asked curiously.

"I don't know; don't ask me," Myrtle whined. "I was just sitting here, minding my own business, and someone thinks it's funny to throw a book at me…"

"But it can't hurt, can it?" Harry asked. "I mean, things go right through you, don't they?"

He'd said the wrong thing. Myrtle puffed herself up and shrieked, "Let's all throw books at Myrtle, because she can't feel it! Ten points if you get it through her stomach! Fifty points if you get it through her head! Well, ha, ha, ha! What a lovely game, I don't think!"

"Who threw it at you?" Vanella asked.

"I don't know….I was just sitting in the U-turn thinking about death when it fell right through the top of my head," said Myrtle, glaring at them. "It's right over there; it got washed out…."

They all looked over to where she was pointing, under a sink. A small, thin book lay there. It was soaked, with a shabby black cover. Harry walked over to examine it, the other four watching closely.

Harry poked it with his finger, making it squeeze water out like a sponge. He picked it up, performing a quick drying spell afterwards. He could tell it was a diary, the faded date on the cover informing him it was over fifty years old. He opened it carefully, flipping through the pages.

"It's blank," he announced. "Except for the first page, there's a name, all worn. It must belong to T. M. Riddle. Other than that, absolutely nothing. Not a drop of ink anywhere."

"I wonder why someone would want to flush it away?" asked Ron curiously. "I _know_ T. M. Riddle got a Special Services to the School Award fifty years ago. But what could he have done to make someone want to flush his empty diary?"

"A Special Services Award?" Hermione asked, peering at the book in Harry's hand. "Do you know why?"

Ron shook his head. "Don't see why it matters, anyway."

Harry looked at the back cover and could make out the name of a variety store on Vauxhall Road, London.

"Was probably Muggle-born, whoever it was," he said. "To have bought a diary from Vauxhall Road…."

"Well, I don't see its importance to us," Draco said.

Ron leaned in to Harry and said quietly, "Fifty points if you get it through Myrtle's nose."

Harry smiled and shook his head, putting the book securely in his pocket. "I want to know why someone wanted rid of it."

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Author's Note: I meant to get this up yesterday, but I've had a massive headache. My apologies for the wait. From here on out ought to be interesting… Harry's now got the diary. I assure you this does not end _exactly_ like the Chamber of Secrets did.

Cheers,  
S.A.M.


	14. The Morale Booster

Chapter 43, **The**** Morale Booster**

Late one night the next week Vanella was working on a Transfiguration assignment that the others had finished the night before, while Harry was, once again, examining the diary, and Draco was playing one-person chess against the board itself.

He was flipping through the pages with one hand while fiddling with a quill in an inkbottle with his right. "Why would someone want to get rid of this?" he said, frustrated. "It's empty! There's nothing offensive, nothing giving hints to anything; there's nothing at all."

Vanella '_mm-hmm'ed_ absentmindedly while scratching away with her quill. Suddenly she jumped, eyes wide, and slammed the table with her hand. "That's not right! Oh, hell, I'm going to have to rewrite this," she said pathetically.

But Harry wasn't paying attention. He was watching the ink that she'd caused him to spill spread over the pages. "Vanella!" he yelled. "Look what you've—holy Merlin, what's happening…" The ink was disappearing into the pages, leaving them looking like the ink had never touched in the first place.

Vanella looked over with mild interest. "It's probably charmed to make whatever ink touches it invisible," she said. "Nothing too exciting. Later you can look up the counter-charm. Or ask Hermione about it. She has a Revealer, you know."

Harry nodded absently and retreated to bed.

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Hermione's book wasn't in the library. It was already checked out by someone else. Madam Pince wouldn't tell them who had it ("The lists of who had what book became restricted after one student attacked another student over a book last year; no names required," she had said to them). So they were left with no clues to concentrate on but the diary of T. M. Riddle.

One day at dinner, when Hermione was fiddling with it at the Gryffindor table, while a very uninterested Ron stuffed his face with chocolate pudding. Suddenly, in the middle of dinner, she gave a little outcry. She then stood abruptly, knocking Ron's elbow and sending pudding hurling into Neville Longbottom's face. But she didn't notice, because she had already sprinted to the Slytherin table and squeezed herself in between Harry and Draco. She set the book down in front of her.

The large portion of the Great Hall that _had_ noticed her shot the girl strange looks before going back to their own conversations.

The three Slytherins she had come to see leaned in to hear what she had to say.

"Ron said he got a Special Services Award, right?"

The others nodded.

"And Draco, didn't you tell us that your father said the Chamber was opened fifty years ago?"

Draco nodded.

She put her finger under the date. "Fifty years ago! What if T. M. Riddle got the Special Services Award for catching Slytherin's heir?"

Vanella looked skeptical. Her voice dropped to a whisper, eyes darting wearily to the people around that could possibly hear. "My father is the heir," she said. "And if my father was caught when he was in school, he never would have become the wizard he did, would he? Not to mention that if Voldemort was accused of opening the Chamber of Secrets, they'd have more stuff to pin on him, and would make it openly known!"

Hermione bit her lip. "But it would make sense this way!"

Harry was thinking, shaking his head. "What if they expelled the wrong person. What if T. M. Riddle pinned the blame on someone else, and as soon as the actual heir got wind of it, he stopped to save his own hide?"

"That would make sense, too," said Draco. "But it doesn't explain how the Chamber was open in the first place. Who but the heir could open it? And we know Voldemort hasn't; he's hiding out somewhere, trying to find ways to get his power back. And neither is his only daughter."

"Maybe he has more children?" Vanella offered hopefully.

Hermione shook her head. "If he did, he'd have already killed them."

"Then what do you suggest, Hermione?" Harry asked.

"I think," she said, opening to where it said '_T. M. Riddle_' in worn black ink, "that we ought to investigate this Riddle person."

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So they did. At the end of the week they ventured into the trophy room.

"It's over here," Ron said dully, wanting to be anywhere but that room again.

"Wow, Ron, these are nice and shiny," Vanella said, smiling, dragging her finger across the base of a dustless 1956 Gryffindor House Cup.

He grunted in return as they all walked over to where he was standing.

Harry leaned over to examine the Special Services to Hogwarts Award. "T. M. Riddle," he said. "The same."

"I could have told you that," snorted an aggravated Ron, who had '_better things to do_'. "And I did."

Hermione had moved to the corner, where there were plaques for prefects and Head Boys and Girls. "Look here," she said. "Tom M. Riddle was both prefect and Head Boy."

Ron leaned against a wall, waiting for them to finish their search.

Vanella looked too. "Prefect, Head Boy, a Special Services to the School Award; he must've been a favorite."

The others nodded.

"Look here," said Harry suddenly. "Tom Marvolo Riddle. Slytherin House. They won the cup in 1943. It lists all the house members."

They all moved to look also.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," Vanella said. "Vaguely familiar somehow. He was a Slytherin?" They were silent for a few moments. "Maybe he was friends with my father, and he framed someone else to shift the blame."

"That's a risky chance to take for a friend," said Draco.

"Well, if that's what _did_ happen," Hermione said loftily, "I bet he regrets it now."

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The sun had now begun to shine weakly on Hogwarts again. Inside the castle, the mood had grown more hopeful. There had been no more attacks since those on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, and Madam Pomfrey was pleased to report that the Mandrakes were becoming moody and secretive, meaning that they were fast leaving childhood.

Perhaps the Heir of Slytherin had lost his or her nerve, thought Harry. It must be getting riskier and riskier to open the Chamber of Secrets, with the school so alert and suspicious. Perhaps the monster, whatever it was, was even now settling itself down to hibernate for another fifty years….

Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff didn't take this cheerful view. He was still convinced that Harry was the guilty one, that he had "given himself away" at the Dueling Club. Peeves wasn't helping matters; he kept popping up in the crowded corridors singing "Oh, Potter, you rotter…" now with a dance routine to match.

Gilderoy Lockhart seemed to think he himself had made the attacks stop. Harry overheard him telling Professor McGonagall so while the Slytherins were filing into Transfiguration.

"I don't think there'll be any more trouble, Minerva," he said, tapping his nose knowingly and winking. "I think the Chamber has been locked for good this time. The culprit must have known it was only a matter of time before I caught him. Rather sensible to stop now, before I came down hard on him.

"You know, what the school needs now is a morale-booster. Wash away the memories of last term! I won't say any more just now, but I think I know just the thing…."

He tapped his nose again and strode off.

Lockhart's idea of a morale-booster became clear at breakfast time on February fourteenth. Harry hadn't had much sleep because of a late-running Quidditch practice the night before, and he hurried down to the Great Hall, slightly late. He thought, for a moment, that he'd walked through the wrong doors.

The walls were all covered with large, lurid pink flowers. Worse still, heart-shaped confetti was falling from the pale blue ceiling. Harry went over to the Slytherin table, where Draco and Vanella looked positively sickened, pushing their food and confetti around their plates, trying to look anywhere but the decorations.

"What's going on?" Harry asked them, sitting down and wiping confetti off his bacon.

Vanella pointed to the teachers' table, apparently too disgusted to speak. Lockhart, wearing lurid pink robes to match the decorations, was waving for silence. The teachers on either side of him were looking stony-faced. From where he sat, Harry could see a muscle going in Professor McGonagall's cheek. Snape looked as though someone had just fed him a large beaker of Skele-Gro.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" Lockhart shouted. "And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all—and it doesn't end here!"

Vanella groaned. "How can he do this? It should be illegal!"

Lockhart clapped his hands and through the doors to the entrance hall marched a dozen surly-looking dwarfs. Not just any dwarfs, however. Lockhart had them all wearing golden wings and carrying harps.

Many groans were coming from the congregation.

"My friendly, card-carrying cupids!" beamed Lockhart. "They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn't stop here! I'm sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you're at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I've ever met, the sly old dog!"

Professor Flitwick buried his face in his hands. Snape was looking as though the first person to ask him for a Love Potion would be force-fed poison.

"On your birthday, too, Vanella," said Harry. "I feel bad for you."

She put her head in her hands. "I feel bad for me, also."

Not to their surprise, the day got worse. The little 'friendly, card-carrying cupids' did exactly what the name implied. They carried cards. But were not necessarily friendly about it, actually. In fact, they would elbow, kick, headbutt, and in-step their way to whomever they were giving the card to. All day long, the dwarfs kept barging into their classes to deliver valentines, to the annoyance of the teachers, and late that afternoon as the Slytherins were walking upstairs for Charms, one of the dwarfs caught up with Harry.

"Oy, you! 'Arry Potter!" shouted a particularly grim-looking dwarf, elbowing people out of the way to get to Harry.

Hot all over at the thought of being given a valentine in front of a line of first years (some Gryffindors, including Ginny Weasley, and some Ravenclaws) and many Slytherin second years, Harry tried to escape. The dwarf, however, cut his way through the crowd by kicking people's shins, and reached him before he'd gone two paces.

"I've got a musical message to deliver to 'Arry Potter in person," he said, twanging his harp in a threatening sort of way.

"_Not here_," Harry said harshly, trying to escape, not really wanting to resort to teleportation or invisibility.

"Stay _still_!" grunted the dwarf, grabbing hold of Harry's robes and pulling him back.

"Let me go!" Harry snarled, tugging.

With a loud rip, Harry's outer robes ripped open, letting everything that was in the right pocket tumble out. Ink, quill, shrunken Charms and Potions books, and random pieces of parchment.

Harry groaned and began picking everything up, by summoning it (for practice, of course, not just for the fun of it…). He then desperately tried to put his robes back together, and finally resorted to magic, running his fingers down the seam and watching it reattach itself to its counterpart.

"What's this?" came the voice of Ernie Macmillan.

Harry grimaced and picked up the rest of his parchments, stuffing them into the already full left pocket.

"What's all this commotion?" said another familiar voice as Percy Weasley arrived.

Willing to try anything, Harry tried to make a run for it, but the dwarf seized him around the knees and brought him crashing to the floor.

"Right," he said, sitting on Harry's ankles. "Here is your singing valentine:

"_His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,_

_His hair is as dark as a black board._

_I wish he were mine, he's really divine,_

_The hero who conquered the Dark Lord_."

Harry would've loved to use his teleportation skills to be somewhere—anywhere—else at that moment. Unfortunately, his two books were still on the floor by his feet. As well as, he was pretty sure, Tom Riddle's Diary, which was somewhere around here, not shrunken. Trying valiantly to laugh along with everyone else, he got up, his feet numb from the weight of the dwarf, as Percy Weasley did his best to disperse the crowd, some of whom were crying with mirth. Harry gave up laughing and picked up the Charms and Potions books, looking around for Riddle's diary. 

"Off you go, off you go, the bell rang five minutes ago, off to class, now," he said, shooing some of the younger students away. "Even you, Ernie, let's go, come on—"

Harry looked up to see Ernie lean over and snatch up something. With a raised eyebrow and a look on his face that couldn't seem to decide whether to be a smile or a frown, he showed it to a couple of the surrounding Hufflepuffs.

"Give that back," Harry said quietly.

"Wonder what Potter's written in this?" said Macmillan, who obviously hadn't noticed the year on the cover and thought he had Harry's own diary. A hush fell over the onlookers. Ginny Weasley was staring from the diary to Harry, looking positively terrified. Her Slytherin friend had a similar expression, but another girl with the two, a Ravenclaw, just looked like she was dazed, staring at Harry and the book in turn, her mind seemingly working a mile a minute.

"Give it to him, Macmillan," said Percy sternly, losing the friendly, first-name basis he had earlier ventured.

"When I've had a look," said Macmillan, waving the diary at Harry. "I want to know who's next to go. Perhaps it's a checklist?"

They all knew what he meant. The Muggle-born checklist of the Heir of Slytherin.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "The Heir of Slytherin wouldn't need a _checklist_, Macmillan. I'm sure by now he's learned—_other_—methods," he said coldly. Then he reached out his arm, and the diary shot out of Ernie's into Harry's outstretched hand. With a humorless, cold smirk to a very scared-looking Ernie Macmillan, Harry stalked the rest of his way to Charms, followed closely by Vanella and Draco, who were shooting looks back at a bewildered crowd and gaping (but quickly recovering) Percy Weasley.

The three female second years looking positively terrified, except the Ravenclaw, who's expression hadn't changed, rather, she said something to the Slytherin and the Gryffindor and slipped her quill behind her ear. The other two looked at her sharply with wide eyes, but no one but them had heard what she said.

In the Charms classroom, Harry took his seat and started laughing. "Yeah," he managed. "If that doesn't convince them that I'm the Heir of Slytherin," he said between uncontrolled snorts of laughter, "then none of them think I am already, and we all know _that_'s not true."

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That night Harry wanted to go to bed early. Vanella wasn't up for celebrating her birthday anyway, because of the atrocity Lockhart had mutated the day into, and they were all getting sick of the singing of "His eyes are green as a fresh pickled toad" that was going around like a virus. He had given Vanella her birthday present in the darkness of their small corner, where Harry, Draco, and Vanella always studied or talked privately. He had given her a lightweight green summer robe that clasped at the neck with two sides of a snake. Inside it, though, was her own snake, a small male Cobra, completely passive and wouldn't bite if told not to. Even Dumbledore had said he would allow it, when Harry inquired earlier that week. Besides, Vitesse needed a friend. She named him Sentir (:_sahn__-teer_:), and became deeply engrossed in a conversation with him and Vitesse (:_vee-tehs_:) about his earlier home. Draco, knowing Harry's gift, supplied her with snake feed and bedding, only the best. So, seeing there was nothing keeping him in the common room, Harry retired to his dormitory with Riddle's diary.

He flipped through the pages again, looking for anything—anything at all, that might indicate what the secret of this diary was.

Shrugging, he took out ink and a quill and wrote, on the first page, "Hello, my name is Harry Potter."

He watched as the ink disappeared. That was expected. It had happened before, anyways.

But then the unexpected happened. The ink _re_appeared. In words. In response!

Harry read it excitedly.

"_Hello, Harry Potter_," it said"_My name is Tom Riddle. How in Merlin's name did you come by my diary_?"

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Author's Note: 'Bout time, too. Lots of things starting to unfold. Hmm….gee, who can identify the Ravenclaw girl…?

All right, sorry this is so late. I've been busy, and sick, and working really hard on other writing projects. I'm going back to revise SD1 some parts of SD2, am trying desperately to get unstuck in FoD, and am still working with Liz on Concordia Discors I (and excerpts from II and III — read! please! chapter 6 is up!). Stick with me, and know that I won't give this up. Real life is just being a hassle. I'm really sorry.

Cheers, happy writing or reading (or both), and Happy Belated Valentine's Day,  
Sam.


	15. The Diary of TM Riddle

Chapter 44, **The**** Diary of T. M. Riddle**

Harry stared at the open book in shock. Recovering when the ink began to disappear, he wrote: "_Someone tried to flush it down a toilet_."

The reply came quickly. "_Hmm.__ Well, I knew not everyone would want my memories revealed. Lucky I recorded them in more lasting ways than ink_."

He hastily scribbled back. "_Why wouldn't people want your memories to be revealed? Surely they're valuable._"

"_They are. Which is precisely why some would want them kept secret._"

"_I'm not quite sure what you mean._"

"_I mean that this diary holds memories of terrible things. Things that were covered up. Things that happened at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."_

Harry smirked. He was sure Tom Riddle meant the Chamber of Secrets. "_That's where I am now. Terrible things are happening now, also. The Chamber of Secrets has been opened again, like it was when you were in school._"

"_Ah… so you know about the Chamber, then._"

"_Not very much.__ What do you know?_" Harry's heart was pounding, waiting for Riddle's reply.

It came quickly, untidy, as though it was written hurriedly. "_In my day, they told us that it was a legend, that it did not exist. But this was a lie. In my fifth year, the Chamber was opened and the monster attacked several students, finally killing one. I caught the person who'd opened the Chamber and he was expelled. But the Headmaster, Professor Dippet, ashamed that such a thing had happened at Hogwarts, forbade me to tell the truth. A story was given out that the girl had died in a freak accident. They gave me a nice, shiny, engraved trophy for my trouble and warned me to keep my mouth shut. But I knew it could happen again. The monster lived on, and the one who had the power to release it was not imprisoned._"

Harry read it hastily, shocked. "_You caught Voldemort? But, surely you couldn't have. There are no record's of Voldemort's expulsion, and he got a full education._"

The reply came slowly this time, as if it had required great thought. "_What makes you think the Dark Lord opened it, Harry Potter?_"

The boy frowned and scribbled his response. "_Voldemort is the Heir of Slytherin. He speaks Parseltongue, and Professor Dumbledore told us that Vanella was the heir, and her father is Voldemort, so clearly, it must be this way._"

"_Lord Voldemort has a daughter? I had not been told of this._"

"_No one else is supposed to know. Voldemort wants her dead._"

"_How do you know she is not the one doing it then, Harry Potter?_"

"_Because she is my friend, and the monster from the Chamber didn't listen to her._"

"_The famous Harry Potter is friends with his archenemy's heir?_"

"_Yes. But who did you catch as the heir, if not Voldemort?_"

"_I will show you the _real_ opener of the Chamber now, then, Harry Potter, if you'd like._"

Harry hesitated, then wrote: "_Okay._"

The pages of the diary began to blow as if caught in a high wind, stopping halfway through the month of June. Mouth hanging open, Harry saw that the little square for June thirteenth seemed to have turned into a miniscule television screen. His hands trembling slightly, he raised the book to press his eye against the little window, and before he knew what was happening, he was tumbling forward; the window was widening, he felt his body leave the bed, and he was pitched forward, headfirst through the opening in the page into a whirl of color and shadow.

He felt his feet hit solid ground, and stood, shaking, as the blurred shapes around him came suddenly into focus.

He knew immediately where he was, he'd spent enough time in this room over the summer. This circular room with the sleeping portraits was Dumbledore's office—but it wasn't Dumbledore who was sitting behind the desk. A wizened, frail-looking wizard, bald except for a few wisps of white hair, was reading a letter by candlelight. Harry recognized the man from one of Dumbledore's portraits, but, looking around, he noticed that that portrait wasn't currently hanging.

"I'm sorry," he said shakily. "I didn't mean to butt in—"

But the wizard didn't look up. He continued to read, frowning slightly. Harry drew nearer to his desk and stammered, "Er—I'll just go, shall I?"

Still the wizard ignored him. He didn't seem even to have heard him at all. Thinking that the wizard might be deaf, Harry raised his voice. "Sorry I disturbed you. I'll go now," he half shouted.

The wizard folded up the letter with a sigh, stood up, walked past Harry without glancing at him, and went to draw the curtains at his window. The sky outside the window was ruby-red; it seemed to be sunset. The wizard went back to the desk, sat down, and twiddled his thumbs, watching the door.

Harry looked around the office. No Fawkes the phoenix—no whirring silver contraptions. This was Hogwarts as Riddle had known it, meaning that this unknown wizard was Headmaster, not Dumbledore, and he, Harry, was little more that a phantom, completely invisible to the people of fifty years ago.

There was a knock at the office door.

"Enter," said the old wizard in a feeble voice.

A boy of about sixteen entered taking off his pointed hat. A silver prefect's badge was glinting on his chest. He was much taller than Harry, but he, too, had jet-black hair.

"Ah, Riddle," said the Headmaster.

"You wanted to see me, Professor Dippet?" said Riddle. He looked nervous.

"Sit down," said Dippet. "I've just been reading the letter you sent me."

"Oh," said Riddle. He sat down, gripping his hands together very tightly.

"My dear boy," said Dippet kindly, "I cannot possibly let you stay at school over the summer. Surely you want to go home for the holidays?"

"No," said Riddle at once. "I'd much rather stay at Hogwarts than go back to that—to that—"

"You live in a Muggle orphanage during the holidays, I believe?" said Dippet curiously.

"Yes, sir," said Riddle, reddening slightly.

"You are Muggle-born?"

"Half-blood, sir," said Riddle. "Muggle father, witch mother."

"And are both your parents—?"

"My mother died just after I was born, sir. They told me at the orphanage that she lived just long enough to name me—Tom after my father, Marvolo after my grandfather."

Dippet clucked his tongue sympathetically.

"The thing is, Tom," he sighed, "special arrangements might have been made for you, but in the current circumstances…."

"You mean all these attacks, sir?" said Riddle, and Harry's heart leapt, and he moved closer, scared of missing anything.

"Precisely," said the Headmaster. "My dear boy, you must see how foolish it would be of me to allow you to remain at the castle when term ends. Particularly in light of the recent tragedy… the death of that poor little girl…. You will be safer by far at your orphanage. As a matter of fact, the Ministry of Magic is even now talking about closing the school. We are no nearer locating the—er—source of all this unpleasantness…."

Riddle's eyes had widened.

"Sir—if the person was caught—if it all stopped—"

"What do you mean?" said Dippet with a squeak in his voice, sitting up in his chair. "Riddle, do you mean you know something about these attacks?"

"No, sir," said Riddle quickly.

But Harry was pretty sure that Riddle's "no" came a little _too_ quickly.

Dippet sank back, looking faintly disappointed.

"You may go, Tom…."

Riddle slid off his chair and slouched out of the room. Harry followed him, sure that's what he was supposed to do.

Down the moving spiral staircase they went, emerging next to the gargoyle in the darkening corridor. Riddle stopped, ad so did Harry, watching him. Harry could tell that Riddle was doing some serious thinking. He was biting his lip, his forehead furrowed.

Then, as though he had suddenly reached a decision, he hurried off, Harry gliding noiselessly behind him. They didn't see another person until they reached the entrance hall, when a tall wizard with long, sweeping auburn hair and a beard called to Riddle from the marble staircase.

"What are you doing, wandering around this late, Tom?"

Harry gaped at the wizard. He was none other than a fifty-year-younger Dumbledore.

"I had to see the headmaster, sir," said Riddle.

"Well, hurry off to bed," said Dumbledore, giving Riddle exactly the kind of penetrating stare Harry knew so well. "Best not to roam the corridors these days. Not since…"

He sighed heavily, bade Riddle good night, and strode off. Riddle watched him walk out of sight and then, moving quickly, headed straight down the stone steps to the dungeons, with Harry in hot pursuit.

But to Harry's disappointment, Riddle led him not into a hidden passageway or a secret tunnel but to the very dungeon in which Harry had Potions with Professor Snape. The torches hadn't been lit, and when Riddle pushed the door almost closed, Harry could only just see him, standing stock-still by the door, watching the passage outside.

It felt to Harry that they were there for at least an hour. All he could see was the figure of Riddle at the door, staring through the crack, waiting like a statue. And just when Harry had stopped feeling expectant and tense and started wishing he could return to the present, he heard something move beyond the door. Something was creeping along the passage. He heard whomever it was pass the dungeon where he and Riddle were hidden. Riddle, quiet as a shadow, edged though the door and followed, Harry tiptoeing behind him, forgetting that he couldn't be heard.

For perhaps five minutes they followed the footsteps, until Riddle stopped suddenly, his head inclined in the direction of new noises. Harry heard a door creak open, and then someone speaking in a hoarse whisper.

"C'mon…gotta get yeh outta here…C'mon now…in the box…"

There was something familiar about that voice….

Riddle suddenly jumped around the corner. Harry stepped out behind him. He could see the dark outline of a huge boy who was crouching in front of an open door, a very large box next to it.

"Evening, Rubeus," said Riddle sharply.

The boy slammed the door shut and stood up.

"What yer doin' down here, Tom?"

Riddle stepped closer.

"It's all over," he said. I'm going to have to turn you in, Rubeus. They're talking about closing Hogwarts if the attacks don't stop."

"What d'yeh—"

"I don't think you meant to kill anyone. But monsters don't make good pets. I suppose you just let it out for exercise and—"

"It never killed no one!" said the large boy, backing against the closed door. From behind him, Harry could hear a funny rustling and clicking.

"Come on, Rubeus," said Riddle, moving yet closer. "The dead girl's parents will be here tomorrow. The least Hogwarts can do is make sure that the thing that killed their daughter is slaughtered…"

"It wasn't him!" roared the boy, his voice echoing in the dark passage. "He wouldn'! He never!"

"Stand aside," said Riddle, drawing out his wand.

His spell lit the corridor with a sudden flaming light. The door behind the large boy flew open with such force it knocked him into the wall opposite. And out of it came something that made Harry let out a long, piercing scream unheard by anyone—

A vast, low-slung, hairy body and a tangle of black legs; a gleam of many eyes and a pair of razor-sharp pincers—Riddle raised his wand again, but he was too late. The thing bowled him over as it scuttled away, tearing up the corridor and out of sight. Riddle scrambled to his feet, looking after it; he raised his wand, but the huge boy leapt on him, seized his wand, and threw him back down, yelling, "_NOOOOOOO_!"

The scene whirled, the darkness became complete; Harry felt himself falling and, with a crash, he landed spread-eagled on his bed in the Slytherin dormitory, Riddle's diary lying open on his stomach.

He sat up, breathing heavily. "Hagrid?" he said aloud. "How could it possible be?" He lifted Riddles diary from where it was resting against him. "This makes no sense."

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Author's Note: The memory is all from the book. Sorry.

Thank you all for reviews! They feed a writer's insatiable hunger.

This chapter was fairly quick to getting up. I did, after all, get five reviews for the last chapter and figured I may as well reward all of you.

Until next time,  
Cheers,  
Sam.


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